The Forbidden Fruit
by BloodyPencils
Summary: About three things I was absolutely positive: First, Renji wasn't human. Second, there was this crazy part of him - and I don't even know why that part existed - that wanted to wring the life out of me. And third, I was - for the love of all that's holy - fucking in love with him. A twisted Twilight AU. Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or Twilight. I never wished I did, either—I wouldn't be able to stand the pressure and the fame and the flames. Haha!**

**Warnings (for the whole fic): 1) AU – like I said in the summary, this is a twisted Twilight AU. Don't worry about vampires, though. There are none in this fic. 2) OOCness of some characters to varying degrees – I think that's only to be expected, although nothing too brutal. 3) Slight modifications – I'm talking about the concept of being a **_**shinigami**_** here. Because I'm writing this Twilight-style, I might have to tweak a few **_**this-and-that**_**s. It won't get too ridiculous though, promise. 4) Yaoi – now this isn't really a warning anymore, is it? It's more like a promise. *evil grin***

**Warnings (for this chapter): Nothing, really. It's still mostly laying down the foundation and everything. Just watch out for a certain **_**megane**_** trying to get his hands on the strawberry. :))**

o – o – o – o – o – o

**THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT**

**Chapter One**

_**Seeing Red**_

o – o – o – o – o – o

Headset.

Jacket.

A thick wad of cash.

That was pretty much everything I had on me as I sat glumly through a flight that would inevitably take me to a small, insignificant town stuck between mountains right in the middle of nowhere, a place I have specifically chosen for my self-appointed exile. Too bad I couldn't really stave off the boredom—nor the irritation—with them. No matter how much I tried to lose myself in the music, my efforts were for nothing. No amount of crazy riffs or angry drumming or demented screaming could distract me now. I just wasn't about to forget yet the fact that I was slowly but steadily approaching a new, unwanted life that I knew nothing about.

So here I was, _sulking_.

To say that Karakura was in the middle of nowhere was, of course, highly exaggerated. I _knew_ that, as much as I hated to admit it. After all, the tiny, almost unheard-of town I was headed to was supposed to be my hometown in the first place. And it wasn't as if it was some tribal community lodged up in the creepy forests that surrounded the rolling mountains for who knew since when.

Karakura was, in fact, a thriving town situated in one of the most beautiful and scenic spots in Hokkaido. It was a wealthy place, a highly educated community, an attractive tourist spot. The town was hardly what anyone would call lacking—it all just came down to personal preference, I supposed.

Most unfortunately, _I _wasn't particularly excited about the place.

If anything, I dreaded the prospect of spending any period of time there that exceeded a week—a simple vacation was my limit. I was a city boy through and through, and I was damn proud to be one, no matter how spoiled and arrogant that would probably sound. I was eternally grateful for the lucky set of circumstances—extremely lucky, to be honest, bordering on _divine intervention_—that granted me the opportunity to grow up in Tokyo instead.

The other parts of my current situation were, unfortunately, very true.

I only had a few prized personal belongings with me—my only baggage was clothes stuffed into a large, half-empty backpack. I have sold my beloved motorcycle and electric guitar in a brief but—_obviously_—extreme fit of insanity. Needless to say, it was in the same moment of madness that I decided it was high time I went back to my father's hometown. My own birth land…

_Karakura Town_.

A soundless sigh parted my lips as I half-listened to Matsushita Yuuya singing his heart out in my ears, easily drowning the annoying sounds of inane chatter around me. Hearing damage resulting from extended hours of listening to an ungodly volume of music was nothing compared to the mental damage I would no doubt incur if I were to listen any longer to the ear-splitting laughter and chortles and giggles of the girls sitting behind me.

I gritted my teeth at the mere thought of it—such inane banter about make-up and boyfriends and diet pills and plastic surgery. In my mind I fumed and shouted and snarled _Just shut the hell up!_ again and again until my mental voice got hoarse.

I took deep breaths, reminding myself to relax. It would do me no good to let my temper get away from me—I was still going to get my sorry ass dumped in Karakura by the time this plane landed, and no amount of hysterics or tantrums was going to change that. It would probably be in my best interests if I wasn't hauled off to get thrown behind bars then. My life was pathetic enough.

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the window and threw it against the uncomfortable headrest instead. The resulting pain managed to distract me, even if for just a bit. That was good.

This new personality development was, apparently, just one of the many side-effects of my self-exile—even the tiniest things manage to annoy me to death these past few days. As a result, I could barely pay attention to anything now, I frequently found myself gnashing my teeth at the slightest irritations, conversations exceeding two minutes with any person almost always ended up in shouting matches—in some cases, fist fights—and my mood steadily suffered from an all-time low.

Like I needed _more_ things to agonize over. I had enough attitude problems without the added irritability and restlessness.

I stared outside the plane without really seeing anything—I was still busy contemplating what will become of me now that I've finally done it and managed to do something so unbelievably reckless that I was actually regretting with no small amount of fervor.

Hell, I still didn't even know _why_ I decided to move now after all those years of independence. I didn't need to do this at all—I was practically self-sufficient. All the money my dad wired me for my expenses have just accumulated throughout the years in a fat bank account that I sometimes even forgot existed. Aside from the time when I bought my bike and my guitar—which I've alreadyreduced back into hard cash just days ago anyway—I wasn't much of a spender.

In other words, my mom's death when I was just nine years old had made me strong. Strong _and_ self-reliant. I could almost believe I was invincible.

Part-time jobs at ramen shops. Tutoring little brats. Helping as an assistant at a nearby dojo. Even delivering newspapers—although I only did that bit for about two weeks. You name it, I've done it. I was _strong_. I've been alone for almost eight years now, and I did just fine. Better than fine, in fact.

That being said though, a part of my personality _must_ have gotten twisted somewhere along the way. I just knew it. My greatest proof was that the prospect of living with my father—my _only_ family—scared me like crazy now, and I couldn't put into words why.

Something has got to be _wrong_ with me, right?

If I thought it would do me any good—maybe help ease the dread I felt or whatever—I would have gladly tried convincing myself that this was all just a dream, or that it wasn't actually too late and I could still just tell my dad that I'm going back to Tokyo on the first flight out because this was all just a misunderstanding, a terrible mistake on my part.

But even that happy illusion, that temporary escape, was denied to me—as much as I was reckless and idiotic at times, apparently, so was I incredibly cynical and realistic to a fault. And thanks to those spiteful traits, no amount of delusional rationalization would convince me now that my decision to finally come home was right or even sane.

All I could think about was that _this one-way trip to hell is called _exile_ for a reason_.

I groaned as a nasal female voice cheerfully announced that we would land in about fifteen minutes—it was no small surprise that the overhead announcement managed to cut through the noise I have deliberately plugged my ears with. In the first place, what was with the time estimate? Was that even standard procedure? It's almost as if everything and everyone was conspiring to make the most out of my discomfort.

That tiny crack in my efforts to ignore what I was doing made me realize that I wasn't feeling quite well at the moment—I was feeling colder than usual, my hands were clammy, and my head was spinning in slow, slow circles. I seriously felt like I've swallowed a cube of ice whole.

My entire body was tense. Nervous. _Restless_.

I was just starting to think that this wasn't normal anymore when I suddenly felt like throwing up—I had half a mind to wonder if this was what one called a panic attack. I seriously hoped not, because the last thing I needed was for my father to welcome me home in the emergency room.

Soon enough, the plane came to a stop on an ominously vacant airstrip. I tried not to think about how the whole of Karakura seemed to be waiting for my arrival—like I was destined to go back for good one way or another—but of course I failed.

_When have I ever succeeded?_

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself—never mind that the action served no real purpose. _This_ nightmare was way beyond the reach of any coping mechanism that I knew of, breathing technique or otherwise.

And so, it was with weak knees and a dry mouth that I realized I have finally arrived in my personal purgatory. Reality was finally starting to sink in.

_I need to move_, some part of my mind repeated again and again like a broken tape as I paused dazedly just past the gate. The thought of going through with it—never mind that it wasn't like I could just waltz away—made me cringe, but I hardly had a choice. I couldn't just stand there like an idiot forever—sooner or later, I would need to face my demons.

I brought this upon myself, after all. No one forced me to make the decision, buy the ticket, and get on the goddamned plane. And that, perhaps, was the most painful thing about this exile of mine—I actually _volunteered_ for it.

Before I could even calm the monster butterflies battering against my abdomen, I was already going through the motions of claiming my measly baggage and passing through various checkpoints in the airport.

My movements were stiff. My mind was blank. My breaths were shallow. But that was just fine—at the moment, at the very least.

In fact, I was thankful for the involuntary detachment with which my body moved. Every action was surprisingly mechanical, despite the fact that this was the first time I have been on a plane on my own. I figured perhaps some part of my brain was trying to protect me from whatever emotional or mental trauma I was going to suffer through later on when the rest of me had caught up with my actions. _Thank Kami for small mercies._

Stepping outside the airport at last, I flipped my phone open and debated whether or not I should tell my dad I have already arrived. Scenarios of what would happen played out in my head like some kind of a dramatic montage as I considered my two options. I appreciated the sudden bout of creativity, but I can't say I liked what I was seeing.

In the end, there was nothing else to it. I snapped my phone shut without doing anything, then hailed a cab—I would enjoy the last of my independent moments to the fullest.

As I got into the battered-looking vehicle with a saturnine expression, I ran through what I know about Hokkaido. Basically, it's a collection of mountains and volcanoes. _Not good_. Said mountains were heavily forested, and the island is practically the butter-and-cheese capital of the country, responsible for producing almost eighty percent of Japan's dairy products. _Not good at all_. And it's goddamned cold here _all_ the time.

"_Great_," I snarled under my breath as the cab ran over a sizeable dip in the road that can cause any car to keel over in less fortunate circumstances.

Everything was just so lame I wanted to cry. If it weren't for the little pride I had left, I wouldn't be sitting here so quietly like a good kid. I'd definitely be bawling my lungs out. I'd be clawing my way back to Tokyo, to the big city with the bright lights and lollipops and unicorns.

I put my earphones back on after the driver attempted to make small talk by asking me if I was new here, and by saying that I should visit the Hueco-something-or-another Park some time. Did I look like I wanted to talk or something? _Sheesh_.

The drive to my dad's house—_our_ house now—took about an hour long. I used the time to further flush unpleasant things out of my head by drowning my brain cells in angsty music. Thankfully, the strategy was proving to be a success this time.

In the slow ebbing of bitter thoughts, a memory suddenly came to me—something fairly recent and…slightly touching.

_Maybe_.

o – o – o – o – o – o

"Good riddance," Hiyori said to me when I finally got around to telling people at my old school that I was transferring out abruptly. She crossed her arms over her flat chest and rolled her large, round eyes at the window. She was still muttering obscenities under her breath. "…dunno what you're thinking, you stupid _strawberry_ bastard…"

I reached over and mussed her hair, fully expecting a hard kick on the shins—this time though, I had no intention of dodging it. I needed a good hit before I left, perhaps to remind me that what I have just decided to do was the epitome of idiocy.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she snarled at me, glaring at the couple of first-years who were unfortunate enough to pass by—they looked like they were traumatized for good with just one look from this little blonde brat. "If you're going, then scat already. I don't want to see your face ever again, you miserable _freak_."

I sighed quietly, shaking my head at her with a genuine wistful expression. "Aren't you gonna kick me, Hiyori?" _Come on brat, give it to me_.

Her eyes widened for a moment, then her fist came flying into my face. Before I could even blink, she was gone.

"Oww," I muttered, wincing as I tasted blood on the corners of my mouth. "That was a good one." I was surprised she even managed to aim that high—her height never really changed from Day One, something I made sure to remind her in a very loud manner every single day.

"_Tsk tsk_, Kurosaki-kun," another voice said from behind me. "You're being mean."

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. "Shinji."

He walked over to the window and leaned on it carelessly, like he couldn't care less that it might break under his weight and send his matchstick figure flying down the building. "Why transfer out this late in the year?"

I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stared at the floor, pretending I wasn't surprised he was acting so civilized. "What do you care? You don't even like me."

"That's true," he shrugged nonchalantly. "But you didn't answer the question, dumbass."

He actually sounded like he was waiting for an answer—a _decent_ one.

I laughed humorlessly, realizing the absurdity of it all. Hirako Shinji and Sarugaki Hiyori, the two people who gave me hell for almost two years for having bright orange hair, were actually the ones I was having a hard time saying goodbye to. What kind of shitty world was this?

"She's going to miss you, you know," Shinji said eventually, picking through his nails absently like talking to me was the last thing on earth that he wanted to be doing at the moment.

"She still has you for a punching bag anyway," I said, sounding annoyingly arrogant as usual. It just wouldn't do to expose a weak part to this deceptively harmless-looking prick. "It's about time you two go annoy the hell out of someone else, anyway. I've had enough."

_Yeah, I sound so cool_, I congratulated myself mentally as his thin eyebrow arched. One point for me! Though not really…

I think we both knew that the casualness of it all was nothing more than a façade. After all, as much as these two tormented me, they also were the only ones who hovered around me for so long. Long enough for us to actually be able to read through each other's thoughts and moods like we were disgusting lovers or something. It was stupid.

In the two years we've known each other, we've almost become friends—I refuse to remove the word _almost_.

"Fucking bastard," he grumbled.

I have just shrugged when he suddenly straightened up and marched over to me in just two long strides. I almost raised my arms in defense, expecting his usual nasty right hook. It never came, though.

"…your number," he half-snarled at me, shoving his black phone into my face. His pinky finger, which was sticking out like the Barbie he was, nearly entered my mouth.

"What the…" I protested instinctively, pushing him away at once. "_What_?!"

He flicked his long blond hair over his shoulder with long, slender fingers and glared at me with eyes not unlike Hiyori's earlier. He looked…_upset_. Surprisingly so. "Give me your fucking _number_, Ichigo."

And because I was truly, _absolutely_ shocked by what Barbie had just said, I punched in my number directly into his phone without a single witty retort. And the instant I entered the last digit, he snatched his phone away from me and walked off with a tortured-looking expression.

o – o – o – o – o – o

"We're here, lad," the cabbie said gruffly, jerking me back to reality unceremoniously. I haven't even realized the music was gone, lost as I was inside my own head.

I looked outside the window briefly, just for something to do—I wasn't going to admit that I was trying not to let the wetness in my eyes brim over. That would be unmanly, and not to mention just plain stupid. I _wasn't_ crying. Come on. Not a snowflake's chance in a bonfire.

I was so busy trying to act all cool that it took me a while to realize that I could hardly see anything past the misty glass peppered with beads of moisture. This was my personal hell on earth, apparently—cold and icy. I could already feel my ass freezing off in this dismal weather. And all that goddamned _snow_—

I flinched as I remembered my pact with myself to never dwell long on thoughts of snow or anything related anymore. I was sad enough as it is without remembering _that_ day years and years ago… And I couldn't afford to break into pieces right before I saw my dad for the first time in a long while.

Because I was expecting to suddenly feel the onslaught of dizziness like it always did before, I realized belatedly that I wasn't feeling sick anymore, like I had on the plane. That was…good, I guessed._ You can do this, Ichigo._

"Kid?" the cabby asked worriedly, turning in his seat to look at me more closely.

"You're right," I mumbled almost inaudibly, his words sinking in at last. I kept a smirk to myself when the man's eyebrows twitched suspiciously at me. I wondered briefly how I looked like at the moment—going by the looks he was giving me, I probably looked like a junkie with suicidal tendencies. Clearly not my best, but it would have to do.

He continued to eye me weirdly as I handed him a few bills—which was _way_ more than my fare, the ungrateful bastard—then drove off noisily.

"Home sweet _fucking_ home," I said to myself, looking up at the windows on the second floor facing the street. In the three times in the past that I have agreed to visit my dad for a few days here in Hokkaido, I was always assigned this room. It was almost safe to say that it was mine. At any rate, it was the largest one in the house—which was, _frankly_, saying something—and spoiled little me was actually appeased a tiny bit.

A meaty hand, attached to an equally heavy arm, landed over my shoulders so hard I could have sworn I felt the bones in my legs creak. For a moment there, I seriously thought I was going to hit the ground face first.

"Welcome home, Ichigo!" my father boomed loudly right into my ears.

I cringed instinctively—he might be a doctor, but I doubted he understood what the fuck hearing damage was. I didn't mind if it was self-inflicted, but I wasn't taking crap from other people—even if it was my day, _especially_ if it was my dad.

"Yeah, I'm _home_," I mumbled, trying to keep the sarcasm from showing—although I might have failed there. Spectacularly so. _Oh well_.

When he showed signs of saying some more sappy things to further express his joy that I've finally arrived, I shook him off me and marched into the house, leaving him behind to fuss over my nonexistent travel bags.

As if there was a desperate need for me to familiarize myself quickly with my new house before my noisy father caught up with me, I threw my inconspicuous backpack on the sofa and gave the first floor a quick once-over. I was glad that things didn't seem to change much—if truth be told, it seemed to me as if _nothing_ changed from the last time I was here. And that was almost six years ago now.

Large paintings done in different styles still covered the walls. Many of them were done in black-and-white and sepia tones, but a few of the smaller ones were in striking colors. I lingered on the paintings some more, until I saw the one piece that reminded me why I never really studied them in the first place. It was the most beautiful one—a full-sized portrait of my mother in her wedding gown. All that flowing hair and fabric and sakura petals…

Heavy footsteps on the foyer told me my father had finally given up on looking for stuff that he was unlikely to find, so I grabbed a milk carton from the fridge and threw myself down on the blue sofa on the corner of the living room, bracing myself for the long line of questions I was sure to get any moment now. I could dwell on the other stuff later.

"You don't seem to have much baggage with you," he started, scratching his head as he padded into the living room that he decorated himself—according to him, anyway. "I thought you'd be bringing Shiro with you."

I made a face as he mentioned the name—I had no idea he still knew the nickname I gave my white dirt bike. I've mentioned it just once, and only in passing.

_Shirosaki_.

I sold the trusty machine to one of my usual opponents in illegal drag races—I knew Kensei was going to take good care of the thing. I could have brought it with me, but I decided against it in the end. Less baggage—physical or otherwise—was the most ideal option. Less hassle, less stress.

"Ichigo?" My father waved a hand over my face. He sat down near the counter when I tilted my head distractedly. "Baggage?"

I took a huge gulp from the milk carton—I almost choked on the sudden flood of cold liquid—and ran a hand through my messy hair. "I don't have the bike anymore." I decided on the spot that it would probably be in my best interests to keep to myself the fact that I actually _sold_ it. "I have most of my clothes with me, but that's about it."

It was true. The clothes I figured should be good enough for the arctic climate of Hokkaido were all in my backpack—the rest were distributed in my friends' houses, mostly because I forgot to pick them up after spending nights there. My guitar—which went by the name Kon—also got converted into a thick roll of cash at some point. I could always just buy a new one, anyway.

"You hungry?" he asked me genially after taking in my answer.

I blinked once. "Sorry?"

My dad laughed gruffly, much to my surprise. "I said, are you hungry? You look like you could use a good, steaming meal."

I continued to look at him with unbelieving eyes, suspicious of his dismissive tone. What was _this_? Is he really not going to ask me questions? Wasn't he wondering why I have suddenly decided to move here with no small degree of permanence when I haven't made my distaste of Karakura a secret? Was he really telling me that he didn't even suspect me of having committed a felony or something, forcing me to flee from the law?

He met my questioning eyes with a cool gaze for a while, then he guffawed.

"Come on, kid. What did you think? That I was going to put you through the Inquisition or something? Hah!" My eyebrows nearly reached the ceiling in shocked amazement…until he added, "So what do you think, Ichigo? Am I a _cool_ dad now?"

_Ah_. So that was it. I rolled my eyes.

"You had me fooled for a while there," I said, tossing the empty milk carton into the trash before snatching my bag up. If he really wanted to know, I guess he would ask me at some point. "I'm going to shower."

"I bought you a skateboard," he said, totally out of nowhere. I turned around to look at him, surprised…and maybe a tad confused.

"You bought me what?"

He scratched his chin and gestured sheepishly towards a dark corner of the living room with his head. Sure enough, a brilliant blue skateboard with a cool and gothic-style number _six_ outlined on it was leaning on the wall—there was even a festive red ribbon wrapped around it clumsily. I looked back at my child of a father.

"I bought that from Jaegerjacques," he said quickly, almost defensively—I haven't even said anything yet. "He's kind of an expert on the matter or something… You know _him_—he's the kid you used to play with years ago. Anyway, I heard skateboards are all the rage here, so I figured you might want one."

I glanced back at the secondhand skateboard, and realized with a start that the fact it once belonged to someone I have no clue about didn't bother me in the slightest—in fact, I thought the thing looked great. Like it was dearly loved by the previous owner or something. I may not know anything about skateboarding, but I knew _cool_ when I saw it.

Maybe I could actually try it out some time too, since I no longer have my bike to blow off steam with. I definitely needed something new to do in my free time.

"Do you…er, like it?"

I nearly cracked a smile at that—thankfully, I managed to make it look like a sour grin instead. "Is this your idea of a homecoming present, old man?"

He grimaced at me, totally uncomfortable—well, this was _his_ idea. "More or less."

I ran a hand through my hair slowly, disguising whatever emotion I was sure was transparent on my face at the moment. I can feel the tips of my ears burning. "It's not bad…"

His voice softened fractionally, as if catching wind of my unruly teenage moods. "Ichigo—"

"_Shower_!" I half-yelled just in time. "I'm going to take a shower!"

I was just halfway up the stairs when he called out to me again, this time sounding serious and father-like. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

I fought the urge to either roll my eyes or swallow through the lump in my throat that I could no longer pretend I didn't have. _Stupid hormones_. I nodded once. "Yeah."

At the last moment though, I totally lost my cool and felt the dams give. I dashed to my room with no small amount of haste and slammed the heavy door behind me like the _emo_ I knew I've finally become.

o – o – o – o – o – o

An entire playlist later, I finally found the will to get up from my lifeless posture on the bed. It wasn't even the hunger, or the desire to shower, or the need to unpack and get settled that did it for me. It was the sight of tiny shard-like pieces drifting down from the sky like sakura from a giant tree—_except_, of course, that I knew quite well it wasn't sakura at all.

"Snow," I whispered under my breath as I threw the sliding glass windows open without consciously deciding to do so. It fell lightly and gently, like dusting. If I tried hard enough, I could even convince myself that it was just fine confetti, in all shades of silver and white and grey.

When a cold bit landed on my nose, brought in by the equally cold breeze, I almost slammed the window shut. I caught myself just in time—my dad was pretty much laidback, but I didn't think he'd appreciate broken glass on my first day.

When the light thuds against my chest have finally subsided, I looked around my room carefully.

If my memories were any good, then I would have to say that nothing really changed. My bed was still in its place beside the window. My dresser—which looked like it was practically immovable, at any rate—was still leaning against the wall beside the door to my own bathroom. My desk was against the wall on the opposite side of the window. I frowned at that—seeing as how I was most likely going to graduate from high school here in this unfamiliar land, then it was almost certain that I was going to be using that desk. And I did _not_ appreciate its location in the slightest. I would have to see what I can do about it later.

The walls were, thank heavens, bare. At least I could have my fun putting up posters and stuff—not that I brought any with me, but that can easily be remedied.

After searching through the drawers—and finding nothing of interest—I plopped back down on my new bed and paid attention to the bed sheet for the first time. It was certainly unsuitable for a male teenager like me, but something about the black butterflies with sharp fuchsia linings on their wings and the way they were set on an otherwise plain white background that was…captivating, to say the least. It almost felt like…

…like I've already seen them _before_. I just couldn't tell where, or when.

I thought about it some more, then I realized what I was doing. I shook my head, chasing away thoughts of butterflies and bed sheets—this wasn't _me_, for fuck's sake. Emo and girly were on two _different_ levels—and though I admit finally having descended into the first, I sure as hell wasn't going to go into the second, _ever_.

With another dejected sigh—certainly not the first of what I anticipated to be many—I pawed through my bag and pulled out a pair of jeans. It was the thickest pair I owned, but no matter how I looked at it, it just didn't look like it could keep up with the cold. There was nothing I could do about it at the moment anyway, so I fished out my favorite red v-neck shirt and headed to the bathroom, thoughts focused on nothing but a scalding, hot shower.

o – o – o – o – o – o

Dinner was a quiet—_awkward_—affair that night.

For some reason I would probably never understand no matter how long I lived, my blundering idiot of a dad decided that today was a good day to take an unexpected day-off from the hospital he was working at and spend the rest of the day with me, his sullen teenage son. He even insisted on having a rather bulky dinner, something that my battered stomach did not look forward to.

"Dad, really. I'm not _hungry_," I said through gritted teeth as he dumped another heap of grilled squids into my plate, paying no attention whatsoever to my protests.

"Nonsense! You're a growing kid! You need lots of food in you!" he announced cheerfully, proceeding to shove more rice into my already overflowing bowl.

I rolled my eyes and privately decided that I wasn't going to force myself to everything, or even try to dissuade him from his somewhat misguided fatherly notions about raising a child—I simply had to wait for him to retire to the living room to watch his favorite talk show, then I would be free to dispose of my leftovers as I pleased. My dad, on the other hand, took my silence as assent to his ridiculous statement and contented himself with one last serving of fried eggs before shuffling off to the sofa with a satisfied expression.

When I have finished washing the dishes, I sensed him creeping up behind me, trying to be subtle about it.

"What?" I asked tonelessly, not even bothering to turn around. I focused instead on drying my fingers with a towel.

He dropped the sneaky attitude at once and started laughing airily. "You're good, Ichigo! Excellent senses, just like your father!"

I rolled my eyes as dramatically as I could—he couldn't see the gesture anyway. "What do you want?"

He leaned against the wall and shook his head at me—I wondered what image he was trying to portray this time. "It's not so much as what I want, Ichigo. The point is…" he trailed off gruffly, waiting until I looked around at him before he continued, paying no attention to the glare I was giving him. "…today's Sunday."

I stared at him pointedly for a few more seconds, but it was pretty much evident that I wasn't going to get an explanation for this _revelation_ until I actually asked for one.

For a moment there, I was tempted to just ignore him—I definitely did not want to make this some kind of permanent occurrence every day, like a family tradition or whatever else he might think of it as. Patience wasn't one of my stronger suits. However, I decided that I could allow him at least a day to act like the child he still was—I could deal with all his antics properly tomorrow. I owed him at least that much for suddenly calling him and announcing that I'm moving in with him in just a week's time.

I took a deep breath once, then looked at him straight in the eye with carefully controlled expressions. "And Sunday's so important because…?" I trailed off expectantly.

He gave me a huge grin. "Because tomorrow's Monday."

A sudden burst of temper—something I had no idea from whom I inherited, given that neither of my parents was prone to having sudden flashes like I did—washed over me, making me see red for a second. Then I remembered that I was going to allow him a _day_.

_Patience, Ichigo. Patience…_

I pinched the bridge of my nose and counted to five slowly in my head. When I was sure beyond any sliver of a doubt that I wasn't going to end up shouting once I opened my mouth, I looked back at him with a crooked, half-pained smile which was the best I could manage at the moment.

"Yes, tomorrow's Monday," I agreed slowly, trying not to feel like a goddamned idiot. "What about it?"

He shook his head this time, looking at me as if I was failing to notice something _incredibly_ important. "School, Ichigo."

My annoyed expressions froze into place at once, allowing me a few moments to think quickly. I have definitely _forgotten_—it completely, undeniably slipped my mind. All that internal drama about spoiled brat Hiyori and Barbie Shinji being absurdly emotional over me, followed by the nostalgia hitting me at the worst possible timing, then the goddamned snow distracting me… I fucking forgot I have classes _tomorrow_.

"You don't have to hide it, you know," he said lightheartedly, rumpling my hair with his large hand. "It's pretty obvious you forgot."

I winced as I realized I have failed to come up with a witty remark within the appropriate time limit. I sighed in defeat. "So it seems."

His warm hand left my hair alone and patted my shoulder twice. "Don't worry. All you have to do is show up and be yourself. I've already taken care of all the necessary paperwork."

_High school…_ What the hell was I doing…? Why did I do this again…?

I looked away at once, determined not to let my face betray any more of my thoughts. I was most especially against him finding that I was practically drowning in unwanted, unexpected relief at the moment—relief that he was acting like an anchor to me, relief that he could make me feel secure when I barely even understood the concept, relief that I did not have to face all these alone. That last bit was the worst, I was certain.

"Like I said," he smiled at me suddenly, throwing an arm around me and pulling me in effortlessly. "You're obvious, Ichigo."

One moment, my face was being crushed into my dad's muscled chest. The next, I was running up the stairs with my face practically burning with emotions I refused to name—not now, not _ever_.

I slammed my door shut with as much noise as I could make—anyone with a brain larger than that of a chicken's would probably be able to figure out that this is teen-speak for _Leave me the fuck alone_. But paranoid as I was, I stayed right there with my ear glued to the door for a solid five minutes before I determined that my dad probably got the message just fine and decided to give me space and time.

Feeling like I've made a total fool of myself, I threw myself down on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. _Lifeless_—I could do lifeless and numb. It has already proven to be an effective strategy before.

But I _couldn't_. I can't focus enough. My head was a mess—random but persistent thoughts floated around in my mind like drunken bees. It was almost as if the blunder downstairs had actually fried a significant amount of my brain cells to ash. I was just starting to consider whether I should say goodbye to them—my poor, _poor_ neurons—when a haunting voice suddenly echoed from the bathroom.

"…_ippen shinde miru?"_

I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard the eerie phrase.

"Damn that spoiled brat," I growled, cursing viciously under my breath as I trudged towards the bathroom with my heart thundering in my chest.

Hiyori, during the one time she managed to filch my phone off me when I wasn't paying attention, changed my incoming message tone into this hair-raising phrase from one of the animes she was probably addicted to.

It scared me to death when I first heard it, but much to my dismay, I couldn't find the resolve to change it—something about sick sentimentality. And so it remained to be my message tone from then on. I just made sure my phone was on silent whenever she was around.

It took me some time to locate my phone when I finally decided to pick up my lazy ass and search for the thing—I never realized that it could still be in the back pocket of my pants that I already threw into the hamper.

I quickly opened my inbox, and was promptly surprised to see messages from the two people I least expected any from.

I read through what I assumed to be Hiyori's first—it was probably sent sometime during dinner. _Hey strawberry, you know what happens when you get mixed with snow? You get a fucking SNOW CONE! Bwahaha!_

I didn't know what to think at the moment, so I turned to read Shinji's. _Did the airplane fucking crash? –Shinji_

I walked back to my bed without paying attention to where I was walking—I wondered how best to answer the two. I have to admit that there wasn't much to reply to anyway. It wasn't like they sent me novel-length messages. And exhausted, depressed and sullen as I was, I could barely think up suitable responses when all I've read was a collection of insults and expletives from the people who taught me how to swear in the first place. Besides, I wasn't about to give them updates about my life like a moron when they haven't even asked for it—_not_ that I was going to tell them if they _have_ asked for it. I have my reasons when I decided that Facebook and Twitter were of no significant use to me.

Somewhere along my musings, I realized that I was turning into some kind of sappy teenager and promptly reminded myself that these two nutjobs made my entire high school life—or what I had of it, at least—something of a circus, but I figured in the end that I could probably include them in my one-day adjustment allowance.

To be honest though, it was all just a front… _I must be a fucking retard_.

I was seriously happy. I was so fucking _happy_ that they messaged me, even if only to insult me with no vague and ambiguous terms. I was happy because I knew that deep inside, they were probably the best friends I could ever ask for.

I fought back unmanly tears and swallowed my pride—or the lump in my throat. _Whatever_.

I flipped my phone open again and sent a short message to both of them, then smiled contentedly, feeling like I could face tomorrow easily like the cool, Tokyo teenager that I was.

Before I could snap out of my new thoughts for fear of sounding like a girl again, the haunting tone echoed again. Twice.

_I can feel the love, bastard,_ Shinji said.

_As if you can, snow cone_, Hiyori replied.

I smothered my grin into my pillow and tossed my phone off to the side without bothering to reply. They respond well when I tell them _Fuck you!_ and that, I thought proudly, was the best trait I could ever hope for from friends of mine.

o – o – o – o – o – o

The next day, I woke up to a couple of cup noodles stacked over each other in the middle of the dining table, and a note from Dad that said, _Call me when you need anything. Your allowance is on your desk, along with a map to the school._

I couldn't help but smirk when I realized that he couldn't keep up yesterday's elaborate antics for any longer than a day. It seemed to me like my one-day adjustment allowance was the right move—I didn't even have to deal with things afterwards. I should have known that my worries were baseless. Dad would be Dad—clumsy in the kitchen, socially awkward, clueless with money. It's why I liked him so much in the first place.

After taking a quick shower and toweling my hair dry, I took my new uniform out and studied them. _Not bad_, I thought privately. The neutral gray of the coat and slacks did not clash with my hair color—which was probably the most important thing—and the design wasn't bad at all. And when I have finally put the whole thing on, I found that it fit me perfectly. I wondered briefly what my old man had to do to get this done mightily fast.

On second thought, maybe I _didn't_ want to know…

I walked over to my desk and grabbed my allowance, thinking about maybe looking at a new guitar or something. It was only when I was already stuffing the bills into my wallet that I realized I was holding enough money to keep me afloat for two months. I paused momentarily, biting back a grin. Such an airhead, my dad was.

I threw on my favorite jacket—a black one with the words _Vizards Rule_ printed in broken silver letters—after a quick glance outside my bedroom window. I guess I wasn't really surprised anymore to see that it was snowing this early in the morning. At least it was just light—I would save my complaints for when hail started to fall.

It was surprisingly easy to follow the map my dad left for me—although to call it a _map_ had to be some kind of flattery. Written in an ugly, almost unintelligible scrawl were simplistic directions on how to get to the school, which was about ten blocks away from the house. _Go right and walk straight for three blocks, then turn left and walk until you see the bookshop… _It took a great amount of faith on my part to believe that he, at least, knew how to _count_.

Eventually, I found it. Or rather, I found where the school _should_ be.

Since Hokkaido's terrain is basically mountainous, it was only to be expected that a lot of places in the region would be following the same rolling terrain. And not surprisingly, the local high school was located in one of the more elevated blocks in town.

The winding roads to the school where it branches off from the main road were enclosed on either side by very steeply inclined walls that form the sides of the higher grounds where trees grew thickly together. The secluded feel that the accessways emanated gave a heightened impression of effective learning. Everything practically screamed _institution_.

I looked up again as I started working my way to the school, studying the view some more. I certainly appreciated the cool appearance and natural beauty of the place, but I couldn't say as easily that I looked forward to walking this much every single morning—I should probably consider buying myself a bike.

Eventually, I got to the top.

I was frankly surprised to see that the local high school seemed to be larger than my old school at Tokyo—the U-shaped main building, which was in plain view from outside the wide gate, was every bit imposing. The mild-looking beige color did nothing to soften the impression at all. And stepping inside to see the grounds further only added to the initial shock. It really _was_ larger, something I would have never even dreamed of.

I glanced at my watch—my laborious walk ate up so much of my time that even if I left the house an hour before class started, I only had ten minutes and change left. And the thought of walking in late—as if I needed any more attention-grabbing element to my character—nearly sent me running to the administration office.

I managed to keep myself to a jogging pace—mostly in an effort not to attract more unnecessary attention to myself—but I still felt my lungs throb with the familiar slow burn of exertion. I needed to exercise soon.

A couple of greetings and half-formal bows and various school personnel later, I was finally on my way to my classroom, walking about two steps behind my homeroom teacher. She's a slender woman who looked like she could be older than me by just a couple of years, with long black hair arranged into a single neat pigtail on her back and sharp-looking glasses without frames. From the moment I saw her to the time we stopped outside a room on the end of the east wing on the third floor, she had said only two words to me. _Two words_. And that was her name.

Yadomaru Lisa.

She glanced back at me briefly as her hand paused on the door—and broke her two-word record with a terse instruction.

"Wait for me here."

I barely had time to blink—much less respond—before she threw the door open with a casual flick of her slim wrist and silenced the noisy room with her mere presence. Needless to say, she shut the door just as fast, and I could have sworn I can still hear the loud, gunshot-like clicks of her stiletto heels against the floor even after the door had closed.

I sneaked another glance at my watch, resisting the urge to tap my foot impatiently—I could hardly believe that I still had one minute before class. All those formalities earlier seemed to have dragged on forever. And that was only the first part, a small taste of what I would be going through in the next few days. I wanted nothing more now than to get the class introduction over with and retreat to my seat—hopefully somewhere at the back of the room—and think up of strategies on how not to stand out too much. I haven't missed the curious glances I have been attracting non-stop ever since I set foot inside the building.

Because I was waiting on tenterhooks for the moment Yadomaru-sensei would call my name and bid me entrance to a room of unknowns, my senses were a tad sharper than usual. Okay, so maybe a _lot_ sharper than usual was the more appropriate description. At any rate, it was why I suddenly turned to look at the other end of the hall when something flickered from the edges of my vision.

I squinted at the slim figure standing stock-still in the middle of the empty corridor.

I could make out a gray skirt and a white top—which I deduced to be the females' uniform minus the coat, based on what little I've seen from when I rushed about inside the building earlier. After giving her a quick once-over, I had to admit that she wasn't doing anything particularly showy. The girl was just standing there in fact, making me wonder why I was suddenly so interested.

For lack of anything better to do at the moment, I just looked at her some more.

She had an olive-toned complexion, and her limbs were all slender and graceful-looking. Her long, flowing violet hair—gathered into a thick, high knot at the back of her head using a band-like fabric and secured into place with a red hair tie—was highly intriguing, and definitely flashier than mine in many ways. But what really caught my attention, I realized belatedly, was the fact that she was looking right at me.

Her lips curved up into a predatory smile…

The bell suddenly echoed throughout the entire school, signaling the start of class. It was also at that moment that the door of my room burst open without any warning whatsoever.

"You may enter now, Kurosaki-kun," Yadomaru-sensei said crisply, unaware that she nearly gave me a heart attack. I threw one last glance at the end of the hall before entering.

The violet-haired girl was no longer there. All that was left for me to see was the billowing curtain and a faint trail of lightly falling snow brought in by the breeze coming from a window left wide open.

o – o – o – o – o – o

I walked into the room with my eyes down on the floor and my head hung low—so much for my cool, Tokyo-teen image, but I just couldn't shake that girl's smile out of my head. I wished I could say it _bugged me to no end_, but that just wasn't it. There was something about it…

I paused at the middle and quickly picked up a piece of chalk, thankful for the opportunity to turn my face away from the sea of curious faces for a while. Dragging it out for as long as I could, I carefully wrote my full name on the board.

_Kurosaki Ichigo_.

I tensed instinctively when the class in general started murmuring amongst themselves—most probably about the pansiness of my name—but I was relieved to find that none of it sounded hostile or even the slightest bit contemptuous. They were just incredulous, for the most part. And amused, of course. But that was fine—I could deal with that.

I turned around to face the class and quickly bobbed a small bow. "My name is Kurosaki Ichigo. I transferred from Tokyo. I look forward to a good year with you. Please take care of me."

I straightened up to a slightly louder chatter—many faces were directed towards me, looking very interested. This, too, was within my expectations. It couldn't be every day that they see transfers, so I was sure that they were bound to be excited. I quickly suppressed a sigh.

A bespectacled girl, who honestly resembled Yadomaru-sensei, rose her hand confidently. Beside me, the teacher nodded briefly.

Yadomaru-the-second stood up primly, pushed her glasses back to her nose with steady fingers, and bowed briefly to me. "My name is Ise Nanao, class representative. In behalf of the whole class, welcome to Karakura. We hope to get along with you."

She sat back down after her short and curt introduction.

_Ise-san, huh?_ I made a mental note to find out later if there was any sort of connection between Yadomaru-sensei and the class rep.

Many more hands started to raise after that first one, although a bit tentatively compared to Ise's straightforward manner. I correctly guessed that the hesitation was because of the teacher's no-nonsense demeanor—I saw her glance across the class once, then rolled her eyes infinitesimally at the number of hands waving shakily but bravely in the air.

She sighed ever so slightly, then spoke in a clipped tone. "Yes, Inoue-san?"

A well-endowed girl stood up shyly, looking at me with great round eyes. I swallowed when I saw her hair—it was the same blaring, violent color as mine, except perhaps that it was of a deeper shade, a richer hue.

I managed to maintain a politely interested expression on my face, but deep inside I was really doing a wild victory dance. My spiky hair, although slightly longer than was normal for proper high school students, had nothing on her sweeping curtain of tangerine tresses.

The girl—Inoue—was peeking at me through thick eyelashes. "Is…is that your…natural hair color, Kurosaki-kun?" She even squeaked at the end of her question, like she expected me to burst into a tirade at her question.

I nodded shortly. "Yeah. This is natural."

Her mouth rounded into a cute little _o_, but the sound was drowned out by more chattering. As I looked around and studied faces, Yadomaru-sensei called another name.

"Ishida-kun."

This time, a tall boy with silky-looking black hair and sharp blue eyes stood up. He gave me the impression of being one of those cool, effortlessly intelligent types…

"Have you already decided on a club, Kurosaki-kun?"

I shook my head, entirely truthful. In fact, this might be the first time I have thought of that particular concern—he had a good point.

He leveled a serious gaze at me and said, "I'm Ishida Uryuu, president of the Sewing Club. Would you perhaps be interested in joining our club?"

I groaned internally. _Ahh_… There goes the good impression. Maybe it would actually do me good to pay heed to the old adage _Never judge a book by its cover_.

I scratched my head and averted my eyes to the sides. "It's not really…" _an option, or even a sane suggestion._ "…my cup of tea. Sorry."

I automatically tuned out whatever else he said before sitting back down, certain that I didn't want to hear any more pleasantries or extended invitations. I have no intention of joining the Sewing Club, and my decision was final.

Beside me, Yadomaru-sensei let out a tired sigh and lazily called out another name. "Alright, everyone. Last question. Arisawa-san."

The girl who sat beside Inoue—black-haired, short, fierce-looking, the very image of an angry young boy _except _that she was a girl—stood up quickly, half-slammed her hands into the desk, and asked me bluntly, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

I blinked once, then my lips parted. _Damn, she was blunt. _I thought about it for a moment, then I flashed the whole class a bright smile.

"Nope."

"Alright, that's it," Yadomaru-sensei announced, followed by the loud clicking of her shoes—everyone, or at least _some_ of them, groaned in disappointment. She turned to me. "You may take a seat right there, Kurosaki-kun."

She pointed to the empty chair beside the Sewing Club Four-Eyes—but it was also a seat beside the window. _Fair trade_, I thought.

I walked to my seat and settled down quietly—surprisingly, Ishida made no comment whatsoever. That was good. We would probably get along just fine if he kept it up. After putting my bag down, I glanced outside and saw that the snow had finally stopped. That was another good thing.

I released the breath I didn't realize I've been holding and thought, _So far, so good_.

o – o – o – o – o – o

To my chagrin, my elective was—of _all_ the things my idiotic father could choose from when he registered my classes—painting.

_Painting!_ Good Lord…

The one in charge of the goddamned elective was a man called Ukitake Juushirou. From what I heard from people who were friendly enough to chat as we walked to the art room on the west wing of our floor, he was practically a genius. His paintings and other works were well sought-after, and multiple galleries are always asking him for new pieces. They even said that his first ever masterpiece, a painting called _The Ghost of Ugendo_, was currently priced at $22, 500. However, he had refused to sell it numerous times, and it has long been established that he had no intention of selling it ever—although that never really deterred interested parties from seeking him out.

I sat down with a couple of my classmates on a corner of the room, thinking that at least this class was going to be held by a person who knew his stuff. It couldn't be a total disappointment.

"Notice the number of people in here?" a laidback boy from my class called Mizuiro whispered to me. I nodded once, looking around briefly. "Ukitake-sensei's class is the only elective in this school with students from all year levels. I even heard someone say that every section has a student or two in this class. I don't think anyone's bothered checking, but it's probably true. There are even some who aren't officially registered—Ukitake-sensei allows sit-ins, apparently."

"He's that good, huh?" I said, studying the faces of the students in the room. More than half of them didn't strike me as art-loving people, to be honest. Regardless of whether the teacher was a master or not, I just didn't think a class turnout of this size was simply due to respect. Something else has got to be at play here.

"Ah…here he is," Mizuiro said, gesturing towards the door.

"So _that's_ why," I breathed as a wraith-like figure with a sheet of snow white hair entered the room. Even the man's features were deathly pale, but that only served to highlight the strange, almost otherworldly beauty he undeniably possessed. I wanted to say he almost looked like a girl, but I couldn't—the word _feminine _didn't suit him at all. Not in my opinion, at least.

But he really was _beautiful_.

Students quickly flocked round the teacher as soon as he sat down. He looked right back at them with a warm smile, and I knew at once that it wasn't the least bit fake. It seemed he was popular among the students for more than just his skills and his looks, too.

Ten minutes later—after Ukitake-sensei had personally introduced himself to me with a gentle voice and an encouraging smile—we were instructed to sketch a person's face. He wasn't asking for anything specific, like a style or angle—he just said to let the creativity flow. Then he excused himself from the room with an apologetic smile, saying he had some last-minute things that he really needed to attend to.

"Many students find him to be a wonderful model," Mizuiro explained with a knowing chuckle when he caught me staring at pictures of Ukitake-sensei clipped on some of the students' sketchbooks. "It's funny how sensei has never done a self-portrait. He once said that he was too embarrassed to attempt one."

"Uh huh," I nodded noncommittally, still looking around. It was almost a given that the teacher would be a subject of many of his students' works, but what I found surprising was that there were a couple of them who actually seemed to have some real talent at drawing.

"He's a really good teacher," Ishida suddenly said beside me, making me jump. I didn't notice him before, and I certainly wasn't aware that he was sitting right beside me. He ignored my reaction and merely adjusted his glasses. "Some of the best in the school started with zero knowledge about sketching or painting, but Ukitake-sensei managed to bring out the gem in them."

"That's…great," I said after a while, getting over my surprise. "I really think this class is great. Definitely interesting. I've never had anything like this in Tokyo."

I involuntarily made a face at the very-much-true thought—I doubted the teacher in charge of painting at my old school even knew how to hold a brush correctly, let alone use it. And besides, aside from the ones that were practically niches in their own right, most of the electives there were taught by teachers who were simply assigned the position. I hardly expected any in-depth, mind-opening knowledge about their respective subject matters from them.

Ishida cracked a small smile before turning back to his sketchbook. "Wait until you see the sensei's works. You'll be amazed."

I realized he was right—I kinda wanted to see some of those famous works now. Who wouldn't be curious after hearing all those praises? I wondered if the school had any on display. He was a teacher here, after all.

"Hey, Ishida-kun. Do you thi…" I started to ask, only to trail off suddenly when I saw his sketch.

The image was only starting to take shape, and there were no real details on the drawing yet—just the shape of the eyes, the outline of a nose, the slim curve of a mouth—but there was no mistaking _that_ face…

I almost grabbed the sketchbook from him. "Who's _this_?"

Ishida looked pointedly at my hand, refusing to answer until I let go of his sketchbook. When I finally did, he coughed softly and nudged his head towards the other corner of the room.

I was craning my head around to see what he was pointing at when I first saw _them_.

They were sitting closely together on the corner next to the teacher's table, minding their own business like an invisible wall separated them from the rest of the class. There was even an unnatural looking gap between their group of five and the closest pack of students, like some kind of a no man's land. And something about the aura that surrounded them—a heavy feeling, an almost tangible weight—made the hairs at the back of my neck tingle.

I looked at Ishida's bare sketch, then turned my gaze back to the mysterious-looking group. There was no doubt it was _her_ in the sketch.

Sleeping with her head against the wall was the violet-haired girl from the empty hallway before. She jerked slightly in her sleep when one of the other students accidentally knocked a canvas to the floor, but the loud sound didn't wake her up. The black-haired boy beside her detected the movement, though.

Looking impossibly stern despite the ridiculous length of his hair that looked like it could rival any girl's, the boy put an arm around the violet-haired girl and pulled her to him, resting her head on his shoulder. I averted my eyes quickly when the boy's surprisingly light-colored ones—I couldn't make out the color from this distance—flickered to what I thought was our direction. It wasn't like I thought I was doing anything wrong, but I wasn't too keen on checking if he really was looking at me with those sharp eyes.

When I thought enough time has passed, I casually looked back at that corner of the room and studied the rest of them.

The two boys who were easily in my line of sight even if I slouched on my seat looked as if they were having a soundless fight. The blond one, whose hair covered almost the entire left side of his face, was frowning with a hint of irritation. The guy beside him—who had spiky black hair, a somewhat muscular build, and a bandage over his left cheekbone—had a hard expression, his hand fisted around the brush he was holding. Every now and then their eyes would meet, and I could almost feel the sparks from the intensity of their glares.

I shifted around in my seat as discreetly as I could, trying to distract myself with the last of them _before_ those two caught me looking—I didn't think it would do me any good to be on the receiving end of those angry gazes.

It took me some effort to find a position from where I could see the last guy from the group—an awful lot of canvases and sketchbooks blocked my line of sight—but when I finally saw him, I couldn't believe that I've missed him in the first place. He was easily the most eye-catching person in the group, or in the room for that matter—and perhaps even in the entire school.

His gray coat was slightly parted at his chest, revealing the edges of a white undergarment and the jagged edges of a pitch-black design inked on his skin. He was sitting lankly on his chair, unseeing eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, looking extremely bored. There was an open sketchbook in front of him, and I could make out a finished-looking image on it, although I couldn't tell if the sketch was any good at all.

I felt another jolt run down my spine as I directed my gaze upwards—it was the same feeling I've had when I saw Inoue's hair, but this time was _stronger_.

His long mane—the upper half pulled tight into a knot at the back of his head while the rest swung freely down his back—was a brilliant, deep red.

Not orange, not yellow, not violet… _Red_. A shocking, ruby red.

And as if the hair color wasn't enough of an eye-catcher, he had a wide burgundy headband wrapped around his forehead—I had the nagging suspicion it was actually hiding a tattoo. I could faintly see a black tip peeking out from where the headband was slightly askew.

Even if I was concerned that he might catch me staring at him—which I clearly wasn't, given his lax posture and indifferent yawns—I couldn't have brought myself to look away anytime soon. I was way too taken aback by his wild appearance it was almost as if a few circuits of my brain have shorted themselves.

"This the first time you saw them?" Mizuiro asked quietly through a smile, nudging me lightly. I barely stopped myself from jumping at the sudden intrusion to my musings.

In an effort to try and gather my thoughts, I tore my eyes away from that corner and looked at Mizuiro's sketchbook—there was an amazing line drawing on the page he was working on, but the picture was that of a plate of onigiri. Clearly, he hadn't heard the instructions properly—or he didn't care. I shook my head some more, then looked right at him instead.

"Who are they?" I asked in what I hoped was a neutral-sounding voice. _And who was that boy?_

Ishida looked up briefly at my question, but made no comment and just went back to adding shadow-like smudges on his own work.

Mizuiro gave me a cool, I'm-a-database kind of look and started playing with his pencil around his fingers. "That's Kira Izuru and Hisagi Shuuhei of Class 3-2, Shihouin Yoruichi of Class 2-1, Kuchiki Byakuya of Class 3-1, and Abarai Renji of Class 2-4. They're kind of like brothers and sisters, and they all live together with Police Chief Kenpachi and his wife."

My mouth parted again. "_What_?"

Mizuiro just grinned at me, no doubt savoring my shocked expression, but Ishida looked up shortly after and provided an explanation when he was done adjusting his glasses. "They're all adopted, although not technically. It's why they all have different surnames. Their personal histories are undisclosed, but a popular theory was that they were adopted by the Chief in order to give them a chance to have a real life and not just wander the streets, doing bad things."

Mizuiro leaned closer to me and added, "I've even heard some say that Hisagi-kun—he's the one with the bandage on his face—was involved in something big, that the Chief had to pull strings in order to keep him out of bars."

My eyebrows twitched at that, but I said nothing—although the fierce-looking guy did look like he _could_ be involved in some of the shadier stuff, I've figured by now that Mizuiro's stories were definitely something to be wary of. It was slightly alarming how cheerful he looked while casually dishing dirt on other people's names.

As I thought about it some more, I wondered why they didn't know more about the group's history—Karakura can be classified as a small town, after all. Surely, gossip gets around like wildfire, right?

"Since when have they been adopted?" I asked.

Ishida paused for a while, then shrugged. "I'm not really sure. When they were eight or nine years old? But I know that the last of them to get adopted was Yoruichi-san—she's the girl, the slim one. I don't think Chief Kenpachi planned on adopting a girl, but things happened…"

The way he trailed off piqued my interest, and I was almost one hundred percent sure that Mizuiro was going to give me a colorful account of that story. To my surprise though, he just smiled awkwardly and looked away evasively when I turned to look at him.

I looked back at Ishida expectantly. "What is it?"

He just shook his head fractionally, making me _tsk_ quietly. I changed my line of questioning.

"Does this mean they haven't always lived in Karakura?"

Ishida sighed—whether because of my persistence or because his hand slipped on his drawing, I couldn't tell. "No. They moved from somewhere in Kushiro about three years ago."

He sounded so dismissive I decided to just drop the topic for now. It wasn't like I wanted to pry or anything, but I was really curious.

I sat back on my chair heavily and looked around absently, not really seeing anything anymore. I couldn't shake off the strange feeling I had… There was _something_ about that group that bothered me. Or maybe _bother_ wasn't the right word at all, but I couldn't clearly identify what it was either.

"You know, Kurosaki-kun," Ishida spoke again, turning his blue eyes to me. "You still haven't drawn anything."

My expressions froze in place as I realized he was right. _Goddamit!_ I've been distracted.

When I looked down at my sketchbook, I realized that my pencil was missing. _Great_. Just what I needed. I shifted around to try and look for it—it must have rolled off and fallen somewhere when I was fooling around earlier, trying to poke my nose into other people's lives.

A few moments of searching for it on the ground confirmed that it had indeed fallen—I bent down quickly to pick it up. Everything seemed to be perfectly normal until that point, but when I straightened back up into my seat, _it_ happened.

A strange, electric feeling suddenly coursed through my body. And before I could even totally register the nerve-wracking sensation, it was suddenly replaced by an overwhelming pressure, like an invisible weight was pressing into me from all sides. At the same time, I felt like I was instantly drowning, like water battered at me from every direction…

This all happened in mere seconds.

By the time the pencil slipped from my loose fingers and fell to the floor with a light _thunk_, the strange feeling was already gone.

I slumped back down on my seat without bothering to pick the pencil up again. My chest was heaving with labored breaths, and I was sure my panic showed on my face. I could feel cold beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, on my upper lip…

"Are you alright, Kurosaki-kun?" Ishida asked in a concerned tone, having witnessed the entire episode but obviously not having felt what I have. "You look pale. What's the matter? Are you feeling sick?"

I wasn't, but I couldn't answer just yet. I was still shaken… _What just happened?_

Several people—including me—looked up in alarm when the door suddenly slammed against the frame, but the only thing I saw before Mizuiro blocked my view with his worried-looking face was the flutter of deep red hair as its owner whipped past with a hard expression and narrowed red eyes.

o – o – o – o – o – o

I spent lunchtime with a group of my classmates that included Mizuiro, Ishida, Inoue, Arisawa, a huge guy named Yasutora Sado, and a real noisy one called Keigo.

We just ate in the room after Keigo decided all by himself that eating indoors every once in a while was somehow beneficial—no one was really sure _how_, though. But because I was eager for some kind of distraction, I agreed to push my desk together with theirs easily.

Needless to say, lunch was a messy affair—it appeared that the act of sharing was religiously practiced by these people. At the same time, they also droned on and on about a great range of subjects that covered everything from the local band _Soul Society_'s latest gig down to the rumored stolen underwear from the locker of 3-1's class rep during PE. It was supposed to be for my benefit, but no one seemed to realize that I wasn't even listening.

On second thought, maybe Ishida did—he didn't say anything about it, though.

Soon, lunch was gone and the group broke up. Inoue walked back to her seat with a wide smile at me, providing a nice contrast to the annoyed look Arisawa was giving me. I grinned at her half-heartedly, mostly for politeness' sake, before turning to my desk.

"You look better now," Ishida said lightly, leafing through a math textbook.

I shrugged, not wanting him to make a big deal out of it. "I guess I was just dizzy earlier. Must be the hunger…"

He put the book down and turned to me. "Say, Kurosaki-kun—"

"Who was the guy with the red hair?" I asked abruptly, cutting through whatever he was about to say—it wasn't like I meant to, anyway.

He closed his mouth and adjusted his glasses thoughtfully before answering. "Abarai Renji, 2-4."

I pulled out my phone just for something to do—I wasn't sure why I was avoiding looking at Ishida, but I didn't want to be too obvious. "I wonder why he left all of a sudden during elective…"

The guy never returned, too. And the most confusing thing about it was that none of his companions—his adopted family—looked like they even cared he suddenly took off with that murderous-looking expression. They just looked…bored. And maybe perhaps a tiny bit distracted. Even the girl woke up momentarily, looking around alertly despite the bleary eyes.

I wondered if it had anything to do at all with what I felt earlier…

"It's not an uncommon occurrence, if that's what you're thinking about," Ishida said, jerking me out of my thoughts. "Those five are known for taking off suddenly, even in between classes. Because of that behavior—which most teachers simply brush off—many students are entertaining the theory that they might be involved in police matters and the like. After all, their adoptive father is Karakura's Chief of Police."

I nodded slowly. "Abarai Renji, huh?"

"You seem…_interested_."

I have just opened my mouth to protest indignantly when my phone vibrated noisily against the wooden desk. I stared at Ishida a few more moments, then decided that the best course of action for now was to ignore his comment and pretend that the suggestion was nothing but absurd.

"You're just imagining things," I said with convincing indifference as I checked my inbox.

My eyebrow twitched in confusion as I read through Hiyori's message for the second time.

_Hey snow cone, did you know that the nationals for baseball is going to be held there at Hokkaido? What do you think?_

I gave it about two minutes, but in the end, I still didn't get it. What was she talking about? I already knew that the two blondes were sort of baseball freaks—I've had enough experience avoiding their bats when fights get a little too heated—but I saw no point in her telling me about the high school championships.

_Dunno what you're talking about. What about it, brat?_ I typed. Then I hit the send button.

I waited expectantly for a quick response. A minute passed by slowly. When the wait stretched into two minutes, I started to get annoyed. I snapped my phone shut when it turned three.

It took exactly seven minutes before Hiyori replied. Her angry message was in all caps, much to my surprise.

_FUCK YOU, STRAWBERRY FREAK! YOU'RE A GODDAMNED ASSHOLE!_

I flinched at the energetic cussing—she was practically dripping venom, and I knew that Hiyori only turned into a savage when she was trying to mask hurt feelings. But _what_ exactly did I do?

I was just starting to wonder whether I should call her—something I did not look forward to the slightest bit—when Shinji messaged me.

_You made Hiyori cry, you dumbass. And you probably don't even know why. I really want to sock you in the face right now, Ichigo._

Of course that only made me more confused—Shinji only acted all brotherly over Hiyori when the girl was feeling down. And _that_ only happened five times all throughout the time I knew the two. _Seriously_—what the hell was going on?

The bell rang before I could make any progress.

"Come on, Kurosaki-kun," Ishida said, standing right beside me with a small bag slung over his shoulder. "We have PE next."

o – o – o – o – o – o

I wasn't expecting a double class—I had no idea what I was expecting, to be exact, but I was sure that sharing our PE class with one of the other sections wasn't . Never mind that we have the whole field on the west side of the main building to ourselves.

"Why are we sharing this class with another?" I asked Ishida under my breath as we shuffled to our line. "This is kinda weird…"

Ishida stretched his elbows over his head. "Teacher's quirk."

I frowned at the simple explanation—Karakura sure was testing me sorely. Every single thing about it threw me off like it had some personal mission to make sure nothing felt even remotely familiar nor comfortable.

"The teacher's name is Iba Tetsuzaemon, and he's a former boxing champion," Ishida added after a while. "His creed is _no pain, no gain_. It sucks because he's teaching PE, but he's a good teacher."

I gulped at the creed thing—_really_? No pain, no gain? I wondered if the school board knew about this.

The two sections formed five lines each without having to be told, and were assembled like soldiers—evenly spaced and super stiff-postured. I copied them wordlessly, feeling like an idiot all the time.

As I looked around, wondering where the man even was, I caught a glimpse of red and realized belatedly that the other class was 2-4. That lifted my mood up a bit—I was still pretty much curious about Chief Kenpachi's adopted children, and I thought maybe I could find out something Mizuiro and Ishida hasn't told me yet.

_You're just interested in that redhead, Abarai Renji,_ my mean inner voice piped up out of the blue. _Admit it already._

I grimaced at the head in front of me—it's been some time since I last heard from the bitch in my head. Apparently, the shock of my decision to move to Hokkaido knocked _him_ out completely.

"Attention, kiddies!" a deep, gravelly voice bellowed from in front of our assembly. Everyone immediately went stiff in place—well, stiff_er_ than before. "Is anyone absent?"

A slim hand raised in the air fluidly, followed by the stern voice of our class rep, Ise Nanao. "Class 2-3. Complete attendance, sensei."

The short report was immediately followed by another one of the same content—I couldn't see the girl from where I was, but she sounded very cheerful and energetic.

"Good! This is the _first time_ no one is absent from either class," he announced gruffly, walking around the assembly judging from the heavy footsteps I could hear.

He came into my line of sight not a minute later, still walking slowly while rapidly marking a list he had in hand with a pencil. Iba-sensei did look like the part of a former boxer—his build was all muscles despite the slight wiriness. He was wearing a tight-fit white t-shirt and simple black jogging pants, but I had no idea _why_ he was wearing dark sunglasses.

As if he heard my thought, he suddenly looked up and yelled, "_You!_"

Everyone looked around in surprise, making the first big movement in a few minutes now. Even I looked behind me—the teacher's head was facing my direction, but it was hard to who he was referring to with those glasses.

"I'm talking to _you_," he clarified, stepping right in front of me. I almost stumbled backwards in surprise—the man was _huge_! "You're new here, aren't you?"

I immediately opened my mouth to introduce myself but Ise-san beat me to it.

"Sensei, his name is Kurosaki Ichigo. He's the transferee."

Iba-sensei continued to look down at me, his arms crossed over his chest. "I can still smell Tokyo air around you. You had _better_ be good at some sport."

Before I could react in any way, he was already marching back to the front with a new, purposeful pace. "Alright, children! Today's PE is volleyball. Everyone who failed the last test, you're serving as scorers and umpires. The rest, divide into teams. It's Class 2-3 versus Class 2-4! Now _move_!"

There was a sudden flurry of activity around me. The teacher did not mention my name, so I assumed he expected me to participate as a player.

"Come on, Kurosaki-kun," Ishida said from behind me, grabbing my wrist. "We're forming a team."

He swiftly dragged me to where three others stood waiting. One of them was Inoue, and the other was Arisawa Tatsuki.

Ishida fixed his glasses into place and introduced briefly. "This is Inoue-san, Arisawa-san, and Yamada-kun."

The small guy bowed clumsily to me, which I returned briefly. He looked uncertain of himself, and he kept on fidgeting—I seriously doubted he could play dodgeball, let alone volleyball.

"I already picked a number," Ishida said, holding out a small piece of paper. "We're team three. We're playing over there. Let's go."

"You do know how to play, right?" Arisawa asked me sharply as we walked over to our designated court—the students playing the part of game officials were already there.

"I guess so," I shrugged noncommittally, wondering privately why she was so intense around me.

I have just finished stretching my legs and arms when a really cheerful voice—one that reminded me of a child—laughed gleefully near us. Beside me, Ishida stiffened.

"We're your opponents today!" a pink-haired, four-feet tall girl announced happily, bobbing up and down her feet. Behind her stood four other people—one of them was Renji. "The last team you formed took a beating from us…right, Pencil?"

Ishida pushed his glasses into his nose stiffly. "Not this time, Kusajishi."

The pink-haired child burst into laughter again. I could hardly believe she's a high-schooler. Frankly, she looked like she should be in daycare. "You never beat us, especially when we have Pineapple with us."

I looked up when I heard her words—mostly because I heard a fruit nickname—and saw that Renji was staring at me. When our eyes met though, something akin to nervousness ran through me suddenly, making me look away at once.

His _eyes_… The unnatural color of his irises were disorienting. It was like I was looking at someone who couldn't possibly be _real_. It was a strange feeling.

"All teams ready?" Iba-sensei called from the distance, looking around carefully to check if everything was set. "Okay! We're good to go! You may start playing…_now_!"

"Let's do this," Ishida said, getting into position.

"_Alright_!" Class 2-4's rep cheered, then skipped over to her place.

o – o – o – o – o – o

It immediately became obvious that the bouncy little class rep didn't know shit about volleyball. And even if she did, given her height, there was nothing she could do anyway. The only time she can get hold of the ball was if someone handed it over to her nicely—not flying around in the air.

It was the rest of her team that was problematic—all four of them played like serious athletes, and they were all male. Our team, on the other hand, had two girls and two girly guys.

"_Mine_!" Arisawa yelled, charging right in front of me just in time to receive Renji's unbelievable spike. I barely registered how her ass turned up just inches past the tip of my nose—I was no longer even trying to pretend like my head was still in the game. I was dead beat.

She dug it out cleanly, then Ishida tossed it just right for Inoue to hit another brutal spike.

The long-haired girl could strike a hit that would knock an elephant out cleanly, much to my surprise earlier—and it helped that the bouncing movement of her…er, _chest_ distracted the other team's members long enough for them to slip up with their defense. Only Renji looked like he could receive her spikes but, for some reason, he never bothered.

The spinning ball dug a visible chasm into the dirt, then rolled off into the distance.

"Game set! 25-19! Class 2-3 wins!"

Okay, so _maybe_ I underestimated my team a bit. But just a _bit_. True—Arisawa played like she was ready to kill, and Ishida played better than I thought he could, but _still_. In the end, I still felt like I played the entire game all by myself… All those _goddamned_ spikes I had to dig out…

Arisawa and Inoue exchanged high-fives happily while Yamada half-collapsed to the ground, shaking like a leaf. I threw him a hard glare that no one saw—there was no reason for him to slump down like that. _I_ was the one who was worn-out and aching all over.

A smugly satisfied Ishida bumped his fist into my shoulder, forcing me to quickly bite back a hiss—the light pressure sent stinging shoots of pain running up my arm like crazy.

"Good job, Kurosaki-kun," he grinned at me, totally oblivious to my predicament. On the other side of the court, Renji stretched his arms over his head, ignoring his teammates' casual banter.

_Renji_… I gritted my teeth angrily as I thought of him.

For some reason, the bastard seemed to be targeting me during the entire game. Nine out of ten of his hits were directed towards me, forcing me to run over and provide cover even during the times I wanted to just rest and catch my breath for a while. And during those rare times he was hitting a ball that he couldn't direct at me, I couldn't help but feel that he wasn't giving it as much as effort as he could have—as he _does_ when it was me on the receiving end.

Whenever I was the one hitting the ball over to the other court, he would always be waiting to receive it, his tilted head and narrowed eyes issuing a silent but obvious challenge. I was certain of it—I could see the taunt almost blazing in his eyes. And competitive idiot that I was, I couldn't help but rise against his arrogance.

I matched him aggressively—every single spike, every single block, every single receive. I refused to back down, even if we attracted way too much attention than was normal. Not surprisingly, the class soon started watching our game.

When Renji's spikes slapped against my arms, my skin burned angrily in protest, and my wrists felt like they would break from the impact. And this happened every single _goddamned_ time. Each new hit was stronger, harder, and faster.

It became worse when the inexplicable enmity between the two of us became obvious to both teams. We were suddenly pitted against each other, and none of my attempts to regain my cool worked even the slightest bit. If anything, it only seemed to fuel his resolve to beat me with a freaking volleyball, which made me retaliate all the more. _Stupid, idiotic redhead_.

Unsurprisingly, the game eventually turned into something of a one-on-one slugfest between Renji and me. Our teammates were shunted to the sides like some kind of back-up, not even bothering to try taking control of the game back.

My gut burned with a fierce, almost demented determination I have never felt since the time Shinji dared me to jump down from the third floor of the school building.

We won in the end, but was it even _worth _it? My arms felt like fucking jelly, my wrists hurt like I broke them a thousand times over, my thighs ached like badly flogged meat, and my lungs burned as if I just ran a full marathon.

_What the hell's wrong with him?_, I fumed internally, glaring sightlessly at the dirt. I have _never_ felt this infuriated before—I wanted to punch somebody, to kick somebody, to pummel somebody so bad my fists were shaking. Not even when Barbie decided to spray-paint my locker pink and drew strawberries all over it.

"…and like I told you, that kind of—uhhm, Kurosaki-kun?"

I jerked back into attention when Ishida called me—the field was almost completely empty now. I turned to look beside me, and saw that he was leveling me a serious gaze.

"Sorry," I mumbled clumsily, realizing that he had been talking to me and I wasn't even aware of it until he stopped. "You were saying…?"

He just sighed, then fixed his glasses once more. "Nothing. Let's go change before the bell rings."

"Alright…" I agreed quietly as he led the way, walking stiffly ahead of me.

o – o – o – o – o – o

As was expected, the long walk to the locker room was quiet. And when we got there, Ishida walked off to the shower room without a single word. I was pretty certain the guy was totally pissed off with me—it wasn't like I was a stranger to the sentiment.

I wondered what he was saying before. Was it something really _really_ important?

I mulled over this all throughout shower—because the alternative was to fume over Renji and his undeniable, totally uncalled-for hostility—but came to no real conclusion in the end. All I got out of the effort was a temporary distraction.

I have just grabbed another towel from one of the benches and was drying my hair with it when Ishida came out, his black hair dripping wet. He shivered once, then walked over to the row of lockers, his mouth set into a frown.

"Cold, isn't it?" he muttered as he grabbed one as well and threw it over his head. "This is why I hate PE."

I didn't particularly feel cold—at least not _yet_—but I found that we shared the same sentiment at the moment. I echoed quietly, "I think I hate PE, too."

I jumped in surprise when a wet towel landed on the floor with a loud squelch, immediately followed by a half-shouted, "Kurosaki-kun…your _arms_!"

My eyes immediately darted to my arms, Ishida's almost-shriek scaring the lights out of me. From the way he shouted, anyone would think my arms were torn off from my body or something.

"Oh…" I said tonelessly, staring at the angry red patches on my skin. My mouth pressed into a line—it did sting in the shower, but I haven't realized the splotchy redness would come out this fast. Even the swelling was well underway.

Ishida grabbed my shoulders—personal space and all that nonsense shoved aside for the moment—and demanded, "What do you mean 'oh'? You need to go to the clinic, Kurosaki-kun! You've got to get this checked or something… You could have broken a _bone_!"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I reached up and took his hands off me. "I didn't break a bone, Ishida-kun." _And if anything _is_ broken, Renji would be the one responsible—not me_.

His terrifically blue eyes widened like he couldn't believe I was just shrugging it off—I couldn't blame him, though. My arms did look scary. "But it's so red and swollen…"

I just sighed, knowing that repeating myself wouldn't convince this nerd-looking person in the slightest. Then I noticed something quite belatedly…

"You're not wearing your glasses," I blurted out. And I only realized it because I suddenly became aware that I was finally seeing the color of his eyes properly.

Ironically enough, his right hand shot up to push at the bridge of his nose, only to stop midway because he _wasn't_ wearing his glasses. Without saying anything else, he stalked off and grabbed his uniform from one of the lockers. Something about the way he walked told me he was embarrassed, although from what, I couldn't tell.

I took the time to dress as well. By the time I have put my shoes on, he was already standing in front of me, looking as stoic as ever.

"Let's go, Ishida-kun," I said the moment he opened his mouth, shuffling to the door. I had no doubt he would go on and on about having my arms checked—his face said it all. "We still have History."

I shuffled off without waiting for a response.

His eyes flashed at me when I looked behind me to check if he was following—the guy made no noise at all when he walked. I turned my gaze back to where I was walking and sighed.

"Seriously. My arms are fine. My dad's a doctor, remember? I'll have it checked when I get home, if that makes you happy."

That seemed to appease him somehow, although I wasn't sure how I knew that. Perhaps because his footsteps changed subtly, became more relaxed—yeah, that might be it.

We took our seats about five minutes before the bell for the last class of the day rang. We weren't even the last ones to return to the room—not even close. Inoue and Arisawa burst through the door a solid two minutes _after_ the lesson started.

I wondered vaguely who arranged the schedule of the class this way—it was _impossible_ to focus on lessons after PE, especially when the subject is History. The whole thing was just so boring and downright depressing it was no wonder Keigo was snoring on his desk at the back of the room.

"…this is going to be on the test," the meek teacher—Kotetsu-sensei—said quietly, glancing once at the class before continuing to write on the board.

I picked up my pen and flipped my notebook open, deciding to just take notes if I wasn't going to pay attention properly.

"_Ow_," I hissed under my breath as I realized that I couldn't even write now—not without electric pain running through my very bones. _Damn that redhead_.

Ishida coughed softly, catching my attention. He was looking at my hand.

"I'll just give you notes tomorrow. Don't push yourself."

The part of me brimming over with manly pride and self-reliance and all that shit started to protest, but Ishida beat me to it.

"You'll have to treat me to lunch tomorrow in return."

I just stared at him for a long moment, then grinned. He sure knew how to deal with me already. "Deal."

His lips twitched up slightly at the corners as he looked back at the board. "It's a date, then."

I wasn't even sure if I heard him right, but he had already turned to the person on his other side by the time I looked up, leaving me there to just stare dumbly at his back.

o – o – o – o – o – o

When I got home, I was surprised to find my father waiting at the dining room with an idiotic smile and a table full of food. I almost ran away then, but I saw that the food was nowhere near that disastrous dinner from yesterday. Everything was looking normal and typical—noodles, fried eggs, sushi, fish, rice. I decided dinner today was tolerable.

"How was your first day, Ichigo?" he asked energetically as I sat down in front of him. "Did you meet new friends?"

"I'm not in grade school, you know," I muttered as I picked up the chopsticks—I tried not to wince as my wrist protested. "_Itadakimasu_."

For a while, we ate in silence, but I had no illusions about him giving up. My dad was nosy as hell, and he can be as stubborn as me.

He waited until I was done with my first bowl of rice before starting again. "Tell me about school. Did you like the place? Do you have sexy classmates? How about the teachers?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "I _found_ the school—which was a miracle. And it's not so bad. It's bigger than my old one, at the very least. My classmates are fine. And some of the teachers were really interesting." I remembered painting class, but decided to just grill him about his choice of elective later. "Ukitake-sensei is very interesting indeed."

My dad made a weird noise when I mentioned the name, making me look up at him. To my confusion, he was looking over at the living room.

"What's the matter? Are you alright?" I asked him, following his gaze but finding nothing out-of-place.

He shook his head slightly, then smiled at me weirdly—he almost looked…_sad_.

"Dad?" I asked hesitantly, putting my chopsticks down. I almost never called him _dad_, but the look on his face was seriously creeping me out.

He sighed, then looked back at his food. "Nothing. It's nothing." _It sure as hell wasn't nothing_, I thought sarcastically. "One of those paintings on the wall…Ukitake-sensei painted it."

My eyebrows rose involuntarily at that. "Really? _Which one_?"

I raked my eyes across the wide living room wall, feeling uncharacteristically curious again.

When a minute has passed and my dad still wasn't speaking, I looked back at him and saw that he won't meet my gaze. His expressions were surprisingly flat, too. Unreadable.

"_Dad_?"

He looked up, smiling lightly. "It's a secret."

My lip curled instinctively in annoyance. _Secret my ass_. "Fine."

The rest of dinner passed by in relative silence—he would occasionally ask me questions, and I would answer as clinically as I could. Most of them were easy—like whether my uniform fit me, or if I have eaten breakfast, or whether I liked the lunch at school. The last one, which he asked me just as I was finishing off my bowl of thin soup, was the thorniest of the lot.

"Aren't you going to tell me what happened to your arms?"

I flinched as his question reminded me of the stinging pain on my wrist that I have been trying to ignore all dinner. "Volleyball."

His right eyebrow arched high, reminding me wordlessly of all the things I inherited from my dad aside from the uncannily familiar facial expression—my pig-headedness, my secretiveness, my rebellious nature, even my emo tendencies.

"Are you seriously telling me someone out there is strong enough to give you marks like _that_?" he asked casually, looking dubious.

I gritted my teeth as the image of Renji hitting a ball effortlessly flashed through my mind's eye. "Yeah."

He shook his head at me, making _tsk_ing sounds all the while. "You alright?"

"Of course I am," I quipped automatically. Then I imagined going to school tomorrow with bandages all over my arms, and winced. "Actually…do you have anything that could lessen the swelling? I don't wanna…you know… And some painkillers would be nice, too."

Snickering, Dad reached over the table and mussed my hair, then walked to the kitchen with our empty plates, whistling cheerfully all the while.

o – o – o – o – o – o

**Now I know this chapter is a bit longer than Chapter One of Twilight, but I couldn't help it. I enjoyed adding the bits about Shinji and Hiyori being Ichigo's enemies-slash-friends from Tokyo. (They have a significant role in this Twilight AU, I promise. Just read on if you want to know what that is, specifically.) Also, you'll have to forgive me for writing Ishida here in a way that surpasses Mike Newton's relationship with Bella. I swear it won't get in the way or anything. It's just a little something for those who ship the IshiIchi pairing. :))**

**You might have also noticed how I switched the two fathers' occupation. Trust me, things will be more interesting this way, and I can stick to Isshin's being a doctor in canon. It's like hitting two birds with one stone.**

**I placed Karakura in Hokkaido in this fic, mostly because I wanted to keep Forks' cold-climate feel in this twisted AU rendition. I hope you don't mind it much. (I'm actually doing research about the place since, obviously, I don't live there. Haha.)**

**In terms of backstories, personalities, actual events, and dialogues, I have my own ideas for these characters. But for the pacing of the events, as you would soon be able to tell if you would open the book, I would be using Twilight's as a rough basis. :)) But of course—**_**fear not**_**—the degree of interaction between the two protagonists would have to be tweaked a bit since this is a yaoi fanfiction. *evil grin* I didn't put this in Fiction M for nothing.**

**Now that we got those out of the way, I want to express my thanks to you, dear readers. For taking the time to read my work, and for investing in my idea. I really hope to hear from you guys, especially if you liked what you read.**

**Lovingly Yours,**

**BloodyPencils**

**PS. If you want to know more about **_**The Forbidden Fruit**_**, feel free to check my profile. There's a section there at the end that discusses a few things about this pet project of mine, including what you can expect from me regarding this story.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Insert witty disclaimer here. :))**

**Warnings (for this chapter): I realize that Ichigo kind of went incredibly emo and all that near the end, but please bear with it. He has his **_**reasons**_**, and he won't stay that way for long. Actually, all the emo stuff would end next chapter—but that's obvious already, since we need to move on to the fluff and the sour goodness. Haha! Also, please don't think that this chapter's incredibly slow plot-wise. It's still a part of the foundation-building. Er…just read on, alright? More from me at the end of the chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

**This chapter is for SakuraTsubasaki, AZjanus and ! Thanks for the positive reviews, guys! **_**Arigatou gozaimashita!**_

**(And oh yeah, I also dedicate this chapter to my dad—it's his birthday today. Not that he would ever see this fic—he has **_**no freaking idea**_** that his only daughter is obsessed with yaoi. Hahaha! Sorry Dad. Happy birthday anyway!)**

o – o – o – o – o – o

**THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT**

**Chapter Two**

_**Encounter**_

o – o – o – o – o – o

The next day was best described as…_tense_.

Or rather, _I_ was tense. Tense and restless and annoyed. Not to mention that my arms still hurt like hell despite the various pills my dad gave me the night before for the swelling and the pain. At least he made good on one of his promises—no swelling. It might still hurt like a bitch, but at least it didn't show.

I grabbed a few more of the pills for pain before I went down for breakfast, just to be sure.

As I went about my morning routine, I determined that some part of my head had obviously gone over the various events from school yesterday during my sleep—it was the only explanation I had for waking up feeling thoroughly murderously angry at Renji when I wasn't even sure what to think last night.

_Abarai-goddamned-Renji_.

There was no doubt all those moves from yesterday's PE class were deliberate acts of malice and hostility. Karakura might be a thousand ways different from Tokyo, but I knew an ass trying to pick fights when I saw one. Bullies and jerkheads were the same everywhere, always strutting their stuff all over their assumed territory, thinking they're hot stuff and shit.

And that redhead just had to be _very_ obvious about it—he couldn't even wait until after school. Did I look like a trespassing goon or something? Did my appearance scream _punk_ or _pussy_ or whatever…? To think that I've been on my best behavior ever since that goddamned plane landed on Karakura soil. _That stupid baboon_. The last thing I needed in this god-awful town was someone picking fights with me at every turn.

I was depressed enough. I was aggravated enough. I was suffering enough. I didn't need all these additional drama…

Which was why I've decided to confront him today.

Not tomorrow, not next week. _Today_.

I wasn't exactly sure what the plan was, but then again, I was never one for planning things. I usually played things by ear. If he wanted to be a goody two-shoes and have a nice, diplomatic talk, then I'll give him that—the fist fight could wait a bit longer, I supposed. But if he wanted a good beating right off the bat, then I could hardly deny him that, right?

Either way, I would definitely settle things with him today.

I locked up quickly and started walking to the school, thinking of various conversation starters. Something short, but snappy and impressive. Maybe intimidating too—I could use some flare.

However, I must admit that I wasn't having much progress on that front—I was never one for fancy words and eloquent arguments. All I could think of was a nasty right hook, like the one Shinji always greeted me with, and I find it very appealing indeed.

I gave it a little more thought than I normally would because it would most probably result into a fight. That redhead sure as hell didn't look like a pushover to me, unless I was _extremely_ mistaken. In the end though, I realized I didn't care. If we fight, then so be it.

_No guts, no glory_.

And what better, more healthy way was there to start a day with other than a lively activity, yeah? I could already feel blood rushing through my veins in excitement, anticipation even. It's been a while since I've last broken somebody's jaw—I kinda _missed_ it.

And such was my entertainment in imagining how the wild-looking redhead would fight that I was already halfway to the school when I finally noticed the black butterflies fluttering around me like they were following me or something.

Feeling a little spooked, I stopped by a bakery uneasily and bought some steaming pork buns—I nibbled on them absently as I waited for the creepy black insects to move on. I still had plenty of time anyway, and I really didn't like the thought of walking with those butterflies flying around me. They made me feel weird.

…which _reminded_ me of the sheets I still haven't peeled off my bed yet.

I frowned to myself, thinking how ridiculous the whole thing was starting to get. It was almost like I was being haunted or something. I shouldn't be bothered by _insects_. I shouldn't even be _thinking_ about insects.

Eventually, the damn things flew away, and I resumed my walk to the school. I dismissed the eerie feeling of foreboding I had earlier as some kind of approval from the gods—perhaps they were favoring my decision to confront Renji today, or something. Maybe it's a sign that I was going to win our next encounter—not that I _lost_ the first one.

I knew it was kinda stupid, but it would have to do for an explanation. I didn't have the time to dawdle on such trivial things. I have more important things to attend to at the moment—insults to craft, jaws to break…

I continued to walk down the mostly-empty roads, occasionally seeing a few students in the distance. It was almost a beautiful day—the sunlight was just right, the wind was tenderly cool, and the atmosphere was almost serene.

_Almost_…

Everything was just fine and well until I reached the road that separated the school block from the main highway.

A striking feeling of being watched suddenly made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. The sensation was so strong it almost felt like someone stabbed me with a cold, steel knife on my neck—I barely resisted the urge to reach over and actually check.

I looked up slowly—totally unsure what made me do so—and saw two guys standing by the railings, looking down at me with eerily flat gazes. I recognized them immediately, even though I've only seen them once before. After all, they were the _farthest_ things from generic-looking.

The black-haired guy with the bandage on his face was Hisagi, if I remembered correctly. He was standing casually with both hands shoved into his pockets, and he looked as if he was studying me. I didn't know if it was just the elevated angle or what, but his frame looked a lot more threatening now than it did when I first saw them.

He almost looked…_feral_.

The other guy was the blond that sat beside him during painting class. And much to my confusion, said blond was now glaring at me like I have done him some deep, personal wrong. Like all he wanted to do at the moment was to lunge at me and stick his delicate-looking fist down my throat.

A shudder threatened to run down my body as I absorbed the situation. The hostility in the air was so solid I could almost reach out and touch it.

All that being said though, I somehow thought they looked relatively less antagonistic than their adopted red-haired brother. Less aggressive. Or maybe the right description was that they seemed _detached_, like their anger was not entirely directed to me, that I was just a partial and unfortunate recipient.

Yeah, I was pretty sure that was it…

However, something about the very way they looked at me still made me stay frozen in place.

_Gut instinct_, I thought uneasily. I felt the same way a prey might feel under the inescapable gaze of the beast about to devour him.

I sure didn't appreciate feeling this way, but I knew I was right about the instinctual fear—when Hisagi moved to stretch his arms over his head as he yawned, I jerked in place so hard it was almost like someone punched me in the gut.

The blond one did not react in any way after my show of weakness, but my eyes darted right back to him at once—and when I did, I could have sworn his gaze was heavier and darker than it was before.

I swallowed nervously, not even remembering to hide the action. I was fucking intimidated, and I couldn't even be angry about it. I was too…_shaken_ to think of anything else at the moment. Everything about the two sent my self-preservation instincts kicking into high gear—my feet were practically screaming for me to _run_.

They held eye contact for a few more moments, then turned their backs on me almost abruptly. I could tell the blond was smirking smugly, like he thought nothing of me but a weakling, as they walked away without so much as a word to me. I also knew I should yell, maybe even give chase, demand what the fuck was wrong with them, then smash their noses into their faces…

Instead, I swayed on the spot slightly, feeling as if something huge had been wrapped around me the entire time and had only gone when the two guys were no longer in sight. I knew it was ridiculous, but it didn't change the fact that it was a perfect analogy of how I felt just moments earlier.

Something was definitely _not_ right here…

"_Ohayou!_" someone said loudly behind me, making me jump in place. I whipped around at once, but it was only a girl running over to join her friends at the other side of the street.

All my nerves were stretched taut. My breaths were shallow and almost painful. My sweat felt cold. Even my flesh was shaking…

_Something's wrong with this goddamned town_, my inner voice screamed at me hysterically, but I couldn't listen to him now. I was too dizzy, too nervous, too—

I clenched my hands into fists and bit my cheeks, trying my damnedest not to jerk into a run as I slowly—_nervously_—made my way to school once more.

o – o – o – o – o – o

Classes during the earlier part of the day quickly passed by, lost as I was in a multitude of half-formulated thoughts that scarcely made sense to me no matter how much I rearrange them in my head. I barely even noticed Ishida trying to get my attention all morning, nor the energetic attempts of some of my new classmates to have me participate in classroom discussion. I just continued to stare out of the window—gazing sightlessly at the not-too-bright, not-too-dark sky that was strangely hard to place—and let my mind wander aimlessly.

In a way, it was an improvement—at least I was able to pull myself together after some effort, and not just break down and panic like I was so close to doing early this morning. I was able to build a temporary shell around me, protecting me from the unknowns, if only for a little while…

The only interruption in my spacing-out was when we had to go to the art room on the other wing for painting class. I left my seat reluctantly.

Never mind my plans for confrontation—I just wanted to _know_ what was going on. Surely, there has got to be some kind of connection between his rough treatment of me yesterday and his adopted brothers' show of intimidation this morning, right? Not to mention Yoruichi's weird smile at me from that first time… I've _just transferred_, for fuck's sake. I haven't even done anything yet.

_Something_ was up, and I wanted to know what the hell it was.

But of course, of all the rotten luck, Renji had to be absent _today_. And here I thought that if there was anyone I could actually pluck the courage to talk to in order to sort a few things out, it would be him—we were both juniors, after all. And it helped that he shared two classes with me. I could make some shit up about an assignment, then talk to him somewhere we won't be interrupted.

_Damn, awful timing_.

As a result, I had to sit through a very uncomfortable class feeling disgruntled and edgy.

Kira—who was the blond one, according to Mizuiro—was still glaring at me for unfathomable reasons. He wasn't even trying to be subtle about it—I could clearly hear the students around me murmuring about it, wondering what _the transferee _could have done to anger the reclusive blond in just one day.

What was more annoying was that Yoruichi was looking over at me with the same small smile on her lips, totally oblivious to the murderous gaze her adopted brother was giving me—it made me want to march over and wring her pretty neck.

I didn't get them. I didn't get them _at all_.

Seriously—what the fuck have I done? All of these seemed to be a little too much if this was just another case of bullying because of my orange hair or my being a newcomer—it has _got_ to be something else.

Were they annoyed that I was attracting attention to myself? But they didn't look like bloody narcissists to me—at least, _most_ of them didn't. Blondie might be one—he sure _looked_ the part. But then again, that didn't explain Renji's abnormal behavior…unless _that_ was normal for him?

_Oh, fuck this_.

I tried to avoid looking at them for obvious reasons—because I was certain I was going to go mad sooner than later if I kept on thinking about all this bullshit—but I find myself glancing at their corner every now and then. It was almost an involuntary reaction, like a tic—it couldn't be helped at all.

Fortunately, the two other guys did not seem to be paying attention to me. And when the bell rang, all of them disappeared faster than I could even gather my things.

That was decidedly a _good_ thing, right? Of course it was—I didn't have to endure more confrontations no matter how indirect… I didn't have to put up with the pressure… I didn't have to pretend to be unruffled… But for the life of me, I couldn't understand _why_ I felt inexplicably cheated.

It was almost like I wanted to see them some more and I was feeling worked up because they won't even face me properly. Just…_goddamn it_, I wasn't a closet masochist!

Was this it, then? Was Karakura already driving me crazy in the literal sense of the word?

"Just speak up already," Ishida said exasperatedly beside me, his blue eyes boring into me.

"Huh…_what_?" I asked irritably, my frustration bleeding into my voice. Was he even talking to _me_?

He pushed his glasses into the bridge of his nose almost forcefully and turned to face me fully. "You haven't been paying attention to anything at all since class started. Do you know how many times teachers have called your name today, only to be ignored? You're lucky Yadomaru-sensei was looking distracted as well."

I just stared at him.

"You're clearly bothered by something, Kurosaki-kun. What is it?" he asked seriously. "Is it about _them_?"

I had no intention of answering him, but the fractional widening of my eyes—a surprised reaction I haven't been able to suppress quickly, emotionally and mentally distracted as I was—confirmed what he already guessed.

Ishida had just opened his mouth when I heard myself cut him off quickly, "I don't think I wanna talk about it."

He fixed a measuring gaze at me for a long moment, then turned to gather his notebooks and pencils. "Fine. Let's get lunch then."

He said that in a carefully firm voice—or at least, that's how it sounded to me—so I figured it was an opportunity for me to stop thinking for a while. I pulled a deep breath and held it in for five seconds, willing myself to calm down. When I was sure I could at least think rationally for the next few minutes, I let it go.

I wasn't sure what was going on inside the guy's head, but he seemed determined to distract me from…_those_ people. Fine—I could use some help anyway, seeing how useless all my efforts were. If I was left alone, there was no doubt I'd be spending every spare second I had chewing over _their_ infuriatingly strange behavior.

Ishida leveled another cool gaze at me, his head tilting to the side fractionally.

I nodded vaguely, then followed him wordlessly as he walked out of the room.

o – o – o – o – o – o

We had lunch on the roof of the school building—the somewhat brilliant idea once again courtesy of the ever-noisy Keigo. It was actually _fun_, something I haven't expected. They brought all sorts of food unique to Hokkaido and Karakura and almost force-fed me with the stuff. According to Inoue, it was their way of welcoming me.

It was crazy, but I thanked them genuinely in the end—some of it looked downright weird, and the names were all hard to remember, but the food itself was exquisite. My new classmates weren't bad at all—if I was going to be honest, I'd have to admit that in some ways, they were better than my old classmates in Tokyo. At the very least, they were more determined to know me—but I think it also helped a lot that they had no idea about my history as a delinquent of sorts. They've never seen me crush faces with nothing but my fists, they've never seen me speeding past the quiet neighborhood on an illegal motorcycle, they've never seen me show up at school with a bloody and tattered uniform.

At any rate, it was a welcome change. Maybe I could _move on_ here.

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, which basically meant that I have successfully put Renji and company out of my mind for the moment—again, thanks to my classmates' joint efforts to keep me occupied.

After school hours ended, I stopped by a music store that I've seen yesterday morning when I was trying to decode my father's childish scrawl of a map. The small, almost unreadable sign in front of the store caught my eye easily, and I carefully filed the information away for future reference. I knew that I was going to look for a music shop sooner or later, and I was glad I didn't have to go hunting for one anymore.

The shop wasn't exactly what anyone would call _on the way_, but I wasn't in any rush to get home today. And I decided I might as well look at something to replace Kon with. Listening to music was only going to entertain me for so long—I wanted to _play_ something again, hopefully soon. And maybe think about joining—_or_ starting—a band.

The mere thought of it made me smile. _Music_…

I didn't expect the cozy-looking store to be big inside given the insignificant-looking front, so I was pleasantly surprised when I saw that it was actually almost four times as big as our classroom. I almost drooled right there at the entrance, taking in the wonderful sparkle of well-polished guitars and cymbals, and the familiar heady smell of wood and metal.

A tiny bell attached to the doorframe announced my arrival.

"Welcome to _Seireitei_! How may I help you?"

A boy with shoulder-length black hair and a tribal-looking tattoo over his left eyebrow emerged from one of the rows, bowing slightly to me. He looked like I was older than him by just a year, maybe two.

"Ah… Er…" I stammered for a while, my eyes fixed on the sharp tattoo on his face—it reminded me of Renji instantly.

He looked up at me and tilted his head slightly. "Uhmm, is there anything you're looking for?"

I snapped back into my senses and looked around again, feeling stupid. _There_ went all my efforts to keep the redhead out of my mind. One teeny little reminder, and I was gone again.

The boy was still looking at me expectantly.

I ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah, well… I'm looking for a nice electric guitar."

He fidgeted around, looking nervous, then mumbled, "This way please."

He led me towards a corner of the shop that had row after row, wall after wall of nothing but electric guitars. I could have sworn I felt my chest constrict at the sight.

I immediately forgot about him—and _everything else_, for that matter—as I stepped forward and lost myself in my own little world.

All these instruments… All these colors… I could _hear_ it all again. I could _see_ it all again. The dizzying mix of notes. The clash of sounds. The roar of the crowd. The sweat running down our faces. The burn of spotlights on skin. The tangle of cords on the makeshift stage. The lights from cellphones swaying in the air. The applause… The euphoria… The swell of emotions… The _freedom_…

_Damn_, I missed this feeling.

About thirty minutes later—maybe more—I was holding a rocking guitar with both hands, my mind already skating through very creative images of me playing it on my bed, in the living room, maybe at school…

It was beautiful—hell, scratch beautiful. It was fucking _perfect_. The body was a deep red, like spilled blood, and it had all these badass black marks all over it that resembled lightning and strikingly reminded me of…of…_uh oh_.

"That's a really good guitar," the fidgety boy—whose name tag read Rikichi—said behind me, looking at the piece I was holding in my hands with obvious adoration. "You sure know how to pick them."

For a moment there, I almost hugged the guitar and shielded it from his gaze with my body, but I remembered why I suddenly didn't want to have anything to do with _this_ particular guitar.

"Well, I…" I trailed off, gingerly putting the thing back on its rack. "I'll think about it, I guess…"

It was pretty obvious that I meant _I have no intention of buying that thing_, and the look on Rikichi's face confirmed it.

"But that's a shame. I mean, you look like you play," he said, looking all fired up now. There was a strong emotion burning in his eyes, and he spoke like he really meant what he was saying. "And that really is an excellent guitar, not to mention one-of-a-kind. I really think you should get it."

I shook my head before this kid could change my mind with his persuasive tone that had nothing to do at all with making a sale. _I can't buy that one I just can't I can't I can't…_

"I'll just look at some more others," I said, trying to sound firm.

It was a failed effort, needless to say—we both knew that nothing inside the store caught my eye except for this baby, and that I wanted it so badly I was ready to hand over my wallet anytime now.

_Shit_. Just why did I have to associate it with the damn redhead? Curse that Renji.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned around before I could do something crazy. After mumbling "Thanks for the help" under my breath, I made my way back to the store front.

I wanted to run so _badly_—run away from the store, run back to the rack and grab the guitar… It was damn confusing. My flesh tingled with the incomprehensible desire.

"I'll keep it reserved for you," the boy called out as I stepped outside the store.

I didn't stop walking until I reached the intersection, but when I did, I looked back at the shop almost longingly.

_Seireitei_.

In that dingy music store was a special guitar waiting for me… I could still feel its cool curves on my hands, the smooth finish of the thing on my fingertips, the long neck brushing against my side.

_Damn, I wanted it_.

I practically fled when the stoplight changed color, feeling the little store luring me back with a fucking siren call. So I ran and ran, and then ran some more.

_Fucking coward_, Shinji told me once before—or maybe not _just_ once, but whatever. For some reason, my inner voice decided to keep repeating it back to me now as I bolted through the streets like a maniac escaped from the nuthouse.

It was only when I started wheezing like a chain smoker that I finally managed to bring myself to a stop. My heart was thundering inside my chest in angry protest.

"Damn that Renji," I snarled breathlessly to no one but myself.

o – o – o – o – o – o

By the time I finally got home, my arms were full of food I bought from the streets. It was nothing more than a much-needed distraction at first, but now I knew why my father gave me those directions in particular when there were other, significantly shorter ways from the house to the school. The route he gave me was teeming with all kinds of shops—but most especially, food stalls.

I wondered briefly if that was his way of making sure I ate before I went to school—if so, I'd have to admire his cunning. Simple and subtle, but effective nonetheless.

I dumped most of my loot on a plate, then carried it back to my bedroom. I put it down on my desk—which was _still_ in an unsatisfactory location—and pulled out my notebooks. Time to be a goody-goody student…although not _really_.

I worked on my assignments with half my mind replaying through every single encounter I had with Chief Kenpachi's adopted children. It wasn't much to begin with, but the endless speculating and analyzing and comparing sure ate up a lot of time. And the subject was just so distractingly complicated that I haven't even noticed I was already finished with everything our teachers assigned us for the day.

Cussing under my breath, I wasted some more time going over my work—I had to check for mistakes since my bloody brain was nowhere near math and science and history while I did my homework. When I was done, I decided not to think of Renji and the others any more than I already had. Things were troublesome enough as they were.

Then, as if right on cue, my phone blurted out its eerie message alert.

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch up—it was Barbie. I quickly opened the message, feeling as eager as a kid on Christmas morning. However, my sudden humor did not last long.

It was fortunate there was no one was around to witness my mood swings, because my expressions fell as soon as I read his more-than-just-serious words.

_Hiyori's still fuming mad with you_._ Can't you even call her?_

I almost dropped my phone in shock. _Call_ Hiyori? Was I _mad_? Did I _look_ like I was mad? Why the hell would I fucking _do_ that?

I gathered my wits about me and quickly typed a reply. _Thanks, but no. You were right—I don't even know why she's mad_.

About three seconds after I sent the message, my phone vibrated again.

_Bastard_, was all Shinji said.

I frowned at my screen—this was starting to get on my nerves. I said it before—patience wasn't one of my strong suits. I didn't like being confused. It made me cranky and irritable.

_Just tell me what the hell you two are going on about_, I typed.

While waiting for his—hopefully, _educated_—reply, I hauled my ass over to my bed and plopped down. My thighs were only now beginning to feel the wrath of yesterday's brutal volleyball match, much to my chagrin. It reminded me of how long exactly I've been neglecting my exercises, and more so now that I didn't even have riding or fighting to busy myself with.

"…_ippen shinde miru?"_

I raised my phone over my head and read slowly.

_If you really don't know, never mind then. You'll get it one day_.

I tossed my phone to the other end of my bed without bothering to even snap it shut, and buried my face into my pillow. If Barbie was going to act like the prick he was, fine by me. I was exhausted mentally—which was a first for me since I never really did any serious _thinking_ in my entire life—and I wasn't adjusting too well. I needed some down time. I needed to _not_ think for a while.

"…_ippen shinde miru?"_

I groaned in protest and ignored the message for about a minute, then crawled around until my fingers found the sleek phone.

_Why are you sulking, Ichigo?_

I could have sworn I felt myself shiver with goose bumps after I read that—I glanced at the window at once. There was _no one_ there, thank heavens. I thought Shinji was stalking me or something.

_I am NOT sulking, idiot_, I told him. The hell was he thinking…I _wasn't_ sulking.

I sat up straight when my phone vibrated. _Now you're lying. What's going on, Strawberry?_

Sometimes I wondered if Shinji and I could have been best friends if I didn't break his nose the very first time we met years ago, and if he _still_ held a grudge because of that—after all, he never got to return the favor. At least, not in one go.

I sighed in defeat, then typed. _Why do you care? Just leave me alone._

_Really, Ichigo. You're all mushy and sappy now. What's the matter? You getting bullied or something?_

My eyebrow arched as I pondered how to answer that question. Was I being bullied? Sure felt like it, but…I dunno. It was…_complicated_.

I only realized that I have been staring at my phone blankly for some minutes already when another message popped up.

_Tell me what's bothering you._

I bit my lip as I tried to decide whether that was a good idea or not. But since I wasn't one for planning things—as was proven by the _entire_ situation I was in—I decided to just wing it and deal with the consequences afterwards.

_I have a hypothetical question for you. Let's say that you just met somebody, then that somebody immediately assaulted you in front of other people. Then he disappears the next day, and his friends are acting weird towards you, like they hate your guts or something. What do you think's going on?_

I pressed _send_ at once before I could re-read what I typed. I was probably going to wince over how long it was, or how pussy I sounded, or some other shit my manly pride wouldn't tolerate. But like I said, I wanted to just stop thinking. If telling Barbie was going to help, then so be it.

My phone vibrated once, my pillow muffling Enma Ai's eerie voice.

_Are you talking about yourself, Ichigo?_

I rolled my eyes as I realized how my message could have been construed in two ways—Shinji had a point. But I knew that he understood what I meant to say, so I just waited for his next reply.

Two minutes later, the Hell Girl asked me her question again. I flipped my phone open.

_Tell me about this guy._

So I did.

o – o – o – o – o – o

Thanks to some higher power I knew not of, Shinji and I managed to actually have a decent conversation, something that almost _never_ happened—if you didn't count disgusting heart-to-heart talks under the influence of alcohol and in between puking our guts out. Which I _didn't_, by the way.

After I have told the guy everything I knew about Renji and his adopted family—which wasn't much in the first place—he warned me that I might be sticking my nose into things I shouldn't.

_Barbie, you're not my mother_, I reminded him. I wanted his opinion, not his advice—I could make my own decisions for myself just fine.

_But the guy's trouble, Ichi_, he insisted.

_Stop calling me Ichi. You know I hate that,_ I told him, avoiding the real topic.

_Whatever. But the guy's hiding something, probably even violent. Just stay away from them. Be smart for once_.

I snorted. _Wow, you're actually insulting my brain? Do I need to remind you I was in the top ten percent of our year?_

He ignored my jibe—which was perfectly true—and warned me again.

_Just leave it alone. Stop being so fucking curious. Stay away from them, while things are still alright._

I frowned at my phone again—Shinji was starting to scare me with that fucking serious attitude. It wasn't like Renji was yakuza or anything. His adoptive father was the Chief of Police, for Christ's sake!

My phone vibrated again while I was typing my reply—I decided to read it first. And when I did, I forgot about responding altogether.

_Come back here, Ichigo. Just come home._

I bit my lower lip—I never expected Shinji to tell me that. Hell, I think I even told myself about a week ago that I would cancel the whole move-to-Hokkaido thing if either Shinji or Hiyori told me not to go, even if it was just a joke.

But they never did, and I ran out of excuses, so I left.

_It's too late, Shinji_, I texted after a while. Then I felt like my throat was going to kill me, so I added in another message, _Don't worry. It's not like I'll be rotting here forever. I'll go back to Tokyo for college. I'll annoy you then. You better be ready._

I waited for his response, but he still wasn't sending anything after five minutes. I even considered calling him then, but I managed to stop myself just in time. I was down enough—the last thing I needed was to hear his voice.

…because as much as I hated to admit it, I fucking missed them so much.

I left my phone on the bed and decided to grab some milk from the fridge before I turned all emo again. Besides, I also needed to bring my plate down because it was starting to smell like takoyaki inside my room.

When I returned, I wasn't surprised to see a new message in my inbox—after all, I was gone for at least twenty minutes. I was almost afraid to open it, but the bitchy voice at the back of my head was starting to riot against my stalling.

My eyes widened as I read.

_Is it _them_? Why are you so interested, anyway?_

And because I really couldn't let that assumption slide, I quickly typed a reply and sent it to him at once.

_Stupid Barbie! Of course it's not them. Are you out of your mind? What, you think the school's going to be happy to hear that I want to transfer _back_ in just a week? Use your head once in a while, will you?_

I was breathing heavily, and I wasn't even doing anything. _Why did Shinji always have to be spot-on_? This was baaaad…

"…_ippen shinde mi—"_

_Now isn't this new? HAHAHA. The strawberry's fucking ripe._

My upper lip curled as I glared at my screen—as if I was going to reply to _that_. He can rot to hell waiting for my response for all I care.

_But seriously. Dude, are you on drugs now, or are you just in love?_

I almost cracked my phone as I punched in my response angrily. _SHUT THE FUCK UP, BARBIE._

_This might be the first time someone ever caught your attention _that_ way, Strawberry. You might want to go see a shrink._

I wanted to just break my phone into pieces now—Shinji _and_ his smart mouth.

But because I loved my phone, never mind that it was something I bought with a feisty, cheeky blond brat in tow, I counted to ten in my head slowly before typing a reply.

_I think you're forgetting that we're talking about a fucking _dude_ here._

There—maybe logic would convince Shinji of the error of his theories. But to my annoyance, the reminder had no effect whatsoever on Barbie.

_I know, I know. You want help coming out, Strawberry?_

I gave up. It was impossible to deal with the guy. _I'm outta here. Go annoy someone else now._

I could almost hear him laughing in that grating voice of his as I read his parting words.

_You know what, Ichigo? For all your insistence that you don't give a flying fuck about him, you still couldn't get him out of your mind. Think about _that_. Hah! Have a nice night._

"Screw you, Shinji," I snarled, then I slammed my phone on my desk and stormed out of the room.

_Damn, I _hate_ blonds._

o – o – o – o – o – o

When I went down, thinking about maybe having an early dinner, I was surprised to find my dad carrying almost the exact same armful of food I had bought earlier. We stared at each other wordlessly for a while—he looked sheepish, and I was trying to bite back a laugh—before trudging off to different directions.

I went straight to the dining table, thinking about stuffing myself with food in an effort to distract myself. Dad followed quickly after.

Dinner this time was peaceful, almost normal. We ate in comfortable silence, and I must admit that the food seemed to have gotten infinitely better. Maybe he was secretly polishing his cooking skills. Or maybe he really just was a decent cook when he wasn't trying to play around with Indian and Chinese cuisine.

When we were both down to just a last few spoonfuls, he cleared his throat loudly and looked over at me with a flamboyant fatherly air.

"So tell me, Ichigo," he started grandly, waving his chopsticks around. "How was your second day at school?"

"You gonna do this every single day, old man?" I asked tonelessly, my eyes fixed on the ultracolorful Hawaiian shirt he was wearing underneath his white coat. I wondered if this was some kind of sick fashion sense, or he was just trying to cheer me up.

He pretended not to hear my dismissive response. "Did you make friends? How're the lessons? You doing your assignments?"

I shrugged, deciding to just give him what he wanted. "There's this guy named Ishida who guides me through classes and stuff. He looks smart and responsible. And his group seems to have taken a liking to me, so I usually sit with a large group during lunch. Everybody's nice enough."

Well, _except_ for the mysterious types, of course.

He scratched his stubble as he thought about something. "Ishida, huh? Must be the son of Ryuuken…"

I looked at him curiously. "You know them?"

He made a face at me and huffed. "You're forgetting that Karakura _is_ a small town. Everyone knows everyone. And besides, theirs is one of the oldest clans here in Karakura. They're the ones who own the archery ranges at the northern edges of town."

My eyebrow arched at that. "Archery?"

Dad shrugged, looking uninterested—I could almost sense some kind of history between this Ryuuken and him. Rivalry, perhaps? "I think they're claiming to be direct descendants of one of the greatest archers in Japanese history. Or was it an archer-youkai? Something along those lines, anyway. Everyone in the family is a practiced archer—no exception."

"_Really_," I breathed, feeling somewhat interested. This was intriguing stuff. Maybe I could ask Ishida about it—along with _why_ he was the president of the Sewing Club when the school had an Archery Club in the first place.

_Which reminds me_… I still haven't decided on a club yet. Or rather, I haven't even given it a thought. And I was certain that sooner or later, the school was going to badger me about the issue—I needed to make up my mind about it as soon as possible.

I still wasn't sure what I wanted, but for now, the number one consideration would have to be _them_—I should make sure to choose a club that did _not_ include them.

I made a mental note to find out which clubs _they_ belonged in before I submitted my application.

"Oh right…do you know about Police Chief Kenpachi and his family?" I asked after a while, thinking that a little more information shouldn't hurt.

My question did not elicit the kind of response I expected—he just nodded briefly and shoveled some more food into his mouth. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah sure, I know them. Everyone does," he added most unhelpfully.

I rolled my eyes when he wasn't looking, then prodded some more with a carefully casual tone. "Well, I was just curious about them. One of his children shares both my elective and PE class."

I told myself I was just using Renji as a conversation starter, not because I was _thinking_ of him.

"Really? Painting?" he asked in between mouthfuls of rice.

I gritted my teeth in an effort not to lash out—not only did I effectively lose my angry-card for his ridiculous choice of elective, he also had the nerve to sound like he thought painting was a pussy subject.

_Deep breaths, Ichigo_…

"Actually, all five of them are in my painting class," I said in a flat tone.

He put his bowl down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "That's interesting."

_This_ was clearly not going the way I wanted it to go. He was only noisy when I wanted some peace. When I wanted him to talk, he wouldn't say _anything_.

"I hear they're all adopted," I said innocently, playing dumb. "Is that true?"

_Finally, some reaction!_, I thought smugly.

He glanced at me briefly—I haven't missed the sharp look in his eyes, like he was trying to figure me out—then sighed almost imperceptibly before launching into his story.

"They're all adopted, yes, but not legally. It doesn't matter anyway—they're family through and through. They travel together a lot," he said. "As for the Chief, he also served in the police force back when they were still in Kushiro, so he easily rose through the ranks when they moved here. Within a year or so, he became Chief of Karakura Police. Frankly, this town is lucky to have him. Crime rate went down drastically when he stepped onboard. The only big cases Karakura sees now are those that come from other places."

He hasn't told me much that I haven't already heard, but I learned something else from the way he talked about Kenpachi and his family. I decided to try my luck.

"You sound like you're defending them or something," I said lightly, picking my napkin into shreds. "Why is that?"

His eyes widened slightly, like he didn't expect me to call him out—or he just didn't believe that I really haven't heard whatever it was he thought people were saying about the Chief and his family. "Yeah, well… Some people don't exactly like them."

_Hard to imagine why_. "What does that mean?"

He looked exasperated. "I dunno…some superstitious nonsense. I never really got it, but some people are opposed to their residence here. _Really_ opposed. A couple of guys back then even resigned from the force, saying they will not accept supernatural approaches to upholding the law. Bullshit, if you ask me."

My eyebrow arched as I picked out the peculiar phrase. "_Supernatural_ approaches?"

He shrugged his coat off and draped it over the back of his chair. "Like I said, superstitious nonsense. These people's imaginations are getting ridiculously out of hand."

I thought about this piece of information carefully, turning it over in my head. Unbidden images of Kira, Hisagi and Shihouin flashed through my mind.

_Supernatural, huh?_ There was something there alright, but perhaps I'd give it some more time before I make any conclusions.

I dredged up some of the stuff Mizuiro told me before instead and decided to bring it up.

"Do you think it's true that Chief Kenpachi lets some of his kids join in on police matters? I heard some students at the school say that they frequently disappear during class, and that the teachers just ignore it. Gives me the impression they get to sideline as agents or something."

At this, Dad suddenly laughed—much to my surprise. He waved a hand around and said, "Nonsense! Chief Kenpachi may look like a brute, but he loves his adopted children like any other father. He would never let them anywhere near such dangerous work."

I raised an eyebrow, but decided to keep the full magnitude of my skepticism to myself.

None of the five looked like they were pushovers—not Shihouin, not Kira, and not even the stiff-looking guy called Kuchiki. If anything, they looked like they could be serious fighters or something. I could easily imagine any of them pulling out a gun with a silencer on and stalking a drug lord in the dead of the night.

Perhaps I should try a _different_ approach.

"How many hospitals does Karakura have?" I asked slowly, stopping Dad from picking up the empty dishes.

His eyebrows pushed together for a while. "Aside from the large one that I work in, there's one small clinic at the western edge of town. But it's kinda out of the way. Why?"

I determined three years was a long time, and a _lot_ of things could happen. "Have you ever treated the Chief for injuries? Or any of his family? If you did, what kinds of injuries?"

He put the plates down this time and leaned on the counter behind him. I wasn't sure if I was seeing right, but he looked _annoyed_. "That's the thing. I've never treated him even once."

"But _why_?" I blurted out at once, thoroughly surprised. "Are you seriously telling me he hasn't been in any real action in those three years? No gunfight? No chase action? _Nothing_?"

He was shaking his head before I could even finish. "Of course not. You remember the serial killer Kariya from about two years ago?"

I shuddered involuntarily at the mention of the notorious name. Kariya was a psychopath who targeted teenagers—especially those in high school—and killed them in a multitude of vicious methods. The scare was so intense during those months of his activity that I actually lived with a few of my equally frightened friends for some time.

Clearly, my dad also remembered the time vividly. I tried to ignore the even-sharper looks he was giving me now—he pleaded with me back then to return to Karakura. But of course, _independent_ and _self-reliant_ and _headstrong_ as I was, I refused him outright. Might have been a bad decision now that I was looking at it from hindsight, but what's done was done. I, at least, tried to look as apologetic as I could.

He decided to continue after a while. "You know that Kariya was finally caught, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. It was somewhere around here, right? The long chase and the intense crossfire was all over the news. Tokyo literally came to a standstill."

He looked at me solemnly and said, "That was the work of none other than Chief Kenpachi."

My jaw literally dropped open at that—I should have analyzed it and made the connection earlier, but the mere mention of the psycho's name somewhat disrupted my mental processes.

"Amazing, huh?" he grinned at me.

I nodded perfunctorily, trying to get the man off my mind—and more importantly, trying to remember the point. "What about it, anyway?"

He turned serious again. "If you still remember the news, you'd know that everyone in the pursuit team suffered from heavy injuries. The Chief was no exception."

If my memory was any good, I think the officer in charge of the scene suffered from at least four bullet wounds, although none of it hit vital organs.

"_However_, he never showed up at the hospital to get his wounds treated."

For the second time, my mouth went slack. I was sure Dad worded it that way because he was trying to point out _something_. It wasn't that he never got to treat the Chief's wounds—it was more like the Chief never had his wounds treated.

"But then, _how_…?" I trailed off.

And _that's_ where the annoyed expression from before came in once more. If I were to make a hunch, I'd say he looked…_bitter_.

"Apparently," he muttered, "his wife is a doctor. A _surgeon_." I was so right about the bitterness—my old man was obviously envious. "She doesn't work for hospitals anymore, but she's still good enough for her to serve as the Chief's personal doctor."

"That's mightily convenient," I muttered, feeling as cheated as my dad was.

I was trying to wonder just exactly why I felt that way when I realized _something_ very important.

"If that's the case…" I murmured.

_...then it all makes sense. We'll never know for sure if his kids are involved in any kind of police procedure since_ no one_ can testify to it, not even medical personnel._

"If that's the case _what_…?" my father prodded.

I shook my head at him, my thoughts racing. "Nothing."

_Damn_.

o – o – o – o – o – o

The rest of my first school week in Karakura passed by in a similar fashion.

It was the same lengthy but placid walk to the school every morning, the same cool air blowing against my face, occasionally sending loose leaves swirling along my feet, the same quiet streets, the same interesting street-food breakfast, the same cheerful greetings from fellow students, the same interesting classes, the same sleepy ones, the same dusk after school hours… _Really_, almost everything was the same—even the silent longing I had every time I went on my way home and sneaked a glance down at Seireitei.

The only real difference was that Kira never looked my way again. _And_…

I never saw Renji again.

Not in painting class, and not even in PE. I tried to look for him—in the most subtle and most thorough way that I could—but I had to accept in the end the absolute fact that ever since that first day, Renji never came to school again.

Partly because of his absence—and partly because I was using volleyball to distract myself and to channel my frustrations—I ended up dominating the field. After I crushed two teams almost single-handedly, never mind that they were just students who have never exercised a day in their life, members of the school's nationally-strong volleyball team started hounding me to join them.

They even told me that I no longer needed to audition for it, that they would automatically put me in as a regular—as if _that_ was going to make me accept the offer.

To begin with, I had absolutely no intention of joining a sports team. Second, I certainly didn't want to play for the school—I didn't think I can handle the pressure well. I had the sad tendency to sometimes turn tail and walk away when the going gets tough. And besides, I was decent enough to think of the people and the feelings I would be stepping over if I accepted the unreasonable, unfair offer.

I believed in hard work, not in one-shot jackpots. I refused to be one of those people who drown in success brought upon by sheer, dumb luck. Where was the free will in _that_?

I saw this movie once and it said, _No fate…but what we make._

So I turned them down politely—and turned them down _again_ in a more convincing way when they took to following me during lunch breaks, hoping I'd change my mind and give it a chance. I seriously hoped that would be the last time I heard from them, but I knew I was going to have to turn them down again sometime soon—the bastards were damn _persistent_, I have to give them that.

On an interesting side note, their glorified invitation reminded me of my one serious academic concern—I still haven't decided on a club.

Deciding to just be blunt about it, I nudged Ishida during English and asked him outright, "What clubs do those five belong in?"

I didn't even have to clarify _who_ I was talking about. He just glanced over at me briefly, then turned back to his book. "All of them are in the Karuta Club."

"Great. Thanks," I muttered, drawing a large mental X on Karuta Club—_not_ that I would have considered joining it if the circumstances were different. Sure, I was interested in arts, and my memorization skills weren't bad either, but karuta was just…_yeah_, a whole new ball game.

During lunch on Friday, Mizuiro announced that they were going to hit the reservation sometime this month. Naturally, everyone invited me to come. _Insisted_, really.

"It's this really nice _onsen_ lodged in the middle of a forest up at Hueco Mundo," Inoue told me, her long hair whipping around her as she bobbed energetically in place. I recognized the name as the one the cabbie tried to tell me about when I first arrived here. "It's super famous, you know? It's got a lot of culture and history, and it's really _really _beautiful there during this time of the year."

Arisawa put her hands on Inoue's shoulders to stop her from bouncing. "You say that _all_ the time, Orihime."

The large, grey eyes turned to Arisawa. "_Really_?" I stopped listening to them when Inoue started talking about swimsuits and bra sizes.

"So, are you up for it?" Mizuiro asked me, holding a list of some kind. He seemed to be quite the organizer, something I would have never figured.

"Sure," I said easily, feeling enthusiastic—I could use something different and exciting for a change. "Sounds like fun."

"Ooh, it _will_ be!" Inoue gushed excitedly, her eyes gleaming as she proceeded to tell everyone the kinds of food she'll be bringing. Arisawa buried her face into her hands in exasperation.

I spent my first Saturday buying clothes.

My original goal when I set out was to supplement my wardrobe for the colder weather, but I ended up buying the same things I usually bought—super tight jeans, rocking t-shirts, black wifebeaters. I even found two pairs of shoes that I really loved.

When I finally remembered that I was supposed to buy stuff that would, _hopefully_, keep me alive when the weather started to turn shitty, I grabbed a few jackets and even threw on some scarves for good measure. However, that was pretty much everything for temperature control.

I seriously wished myself luck as I lugged my loot back home—come blizzards and snow storms, I was sure I was going to die of hypothermia. I just wished I wouldn't have to suffer for long when the time comes.

Conversely, I spent all of Sunday at home, reading through Hiyori's blog—Shinji sent me the address, for reasons I was yet to figure out. I checked it out because it probably had something to do with the brat's tantrums, and I was most definitely intrigued by my mental image of Hiyori sitting in front of a computer, her little fingers working a keyboard, her tiny head composing words and whatnot for the consumption of the interested public.

It was this nifty little thing called _Flower on the Precipice_, and frankly, I couldn't believe at first that this was something that the noisy, violent blond made. The words flowed like water, and the emotions expressed in it were profound. It was mostly angsty, yeah, but I also learned a few things about the brat that I was sure she would have _never_ let me know voluntarily. She was definitely going to kill Shinji if she ever finds out that he betrayed her cute little diary-slash-blog to me.

As I scrolled through the rest of the impressively detailed and lengthy archive, I found a few videos of merit. And by merit, I mean extraordinary records of Hiyori's peerless and timeless talent to cuss like an Irish thug gone midget.

I laughed myself silly as I watched video after video of the two blondes arguing about petty stuff, such as socks with toes and pineapple tarts and paper planes and ceramic pigs and strawberries painted orange.

It was ridiculously funny, but it was also ridiculously nostalgic. It made me realize that I liked the two better than I originally thought.

I barely even noticed it when night had already fallen—I was totally riveted on my find, and I was far too interested in unraveling more of my enemy-slash-best-friend's secrets to abandon my screen even just to grab some food from the fridge. I only stopped when my phone said it was already two in the goddamned morning, and I _remembered_ that I have goddamned classes in just a few goddamned hours.

"_Perfect_," I grumbled to myself as I slid into bed unwillingly and pulled my blanket over me.

o – o – o – o – o – o

When I forced my heavy-lidded eyes open a few hours later, I was almost immediately certain that the precarious status quo of the previous week had finally come to an end.

For one thing, I woke up to a considerably heavy snow fall. I took deep breaths and tried to keep calm while I gauged my emotional climate—my moods whenever it snowed were generally categorized into two: gloomy and down, and irritated and annoyed. About ninety percent of the time, it was the latter.

It wasn't always easy for me to understand how I felt—perhaps because guys tended to be ignorant in these matters—but today, I easily figured it out. I was most definitely feeling…_depressed_.

The extremely late night, the uncontrollable longing for various things that most definitely included a certain guitar and a certain redhead, _and_ the goddamned snow made this gloom a fucking inevitability. The worst thing was that, after I gave it some more thought, I figured that this was bound to happen one day or another anyway because I wasn't exactly unaware of the fact that snow was now an inevitable part of my daily life.

This emotional whirlwind was now something I was supposed to watch out for _every_—_single_—_day_.

I donned a rather thick jacket and a scarf which I piled up high around my neck until it covered the entire lower half of my face, then I walked to school briskly. I kept my eyes on the ground and made my way to the school without so much as looking around me. There were no stopovers this time, no pausing to admire the trees, no buying pork buns, no leaning on the railings for a few minutes.

As a result, I arrived at school a solid hour earlier—I haven't even realized that I left the house at a very early time, all things considered.

Deciding there was nothing else to do but to try to pick myself up before class started, I nipped by the school cafeteria, bought strawberry milk in a small carton, and sat on my chair with my back on the window.

The few people who were already there in the room when I arrived all greeted me in a friendly manner, cheering me up a bit. However, it was only when Ishida arrived that I managed to really stop wallowing in gloom, if only for a short while. And that was only because the guy's uncannily accurate observations required me to actually think of what to say.

"You look like you could use some sleep, Kurosaki-kun," Ishida observed casually as he put his bag down and leaned on the side of his desk to face me. "Had a rough night?"

I answered as truthfully as I could. "Not really—last night was alright." _More_ than alright, in fact. I was happy last night. "A rough morning, more like."

He immediately caught my meaning even though I didn't even hint at it—he just glanced at me once, like he noted the way I was seated, then he nodded slightly. "You don't like the snow?"

I nodded mechanically.

He corrected his statement himself. "No…you_ hate_ the snow."

I let out a defeated sigh.

"You picked one hell of a place to move to, then."

I breathed a short, humorless laugh. "You don't say."

He pushed his glasses further up his nose and looked intently at me. "Why don't you like snow, anyway?"

And because there were a _whole_ lot of reasons why—some of them shallow, some of them painful, some of them petty, some of them traumatic—I just shrugged and mumbled an easy answer.

"Just because."

He said nothing, but somehow I knew he didn't believe me a bit. It was scary how accurate he could read people—or maybe it was just me. _Whichever_.

An uneasy silence formed between us, but he easily broke it by handing me a sheaf of stiff, white paper covered in a stylish, uniform handwriting.

"The notes I promised you," he said simply.

I accepted distractedly, almost forgetting to murmur my thanks, and bent down to slide the neat stack of papers into my bag. My slightly-better-than-grim mood had only lasted as long as the strawberry milk.

The unplanned movement brought the window I have been avoiding the past hour within my field of vision, and I immediately caught a moving red color from the corner of my eyes. Before I could stop myself, I have already looked outside the window, at the boy walking through the gate.

_Renji_…_!_

"Are you alright?" Ishida asked me with a light pat on my shoulder, making me jump. The notes fell to the floor in an awkward heap, giving me an excuse to hide my flustered face for a while.

When I finally looked back up at Ishida, there was a disappointed expression on his face. On any other situation, I would have been interested to know why the guy's thin lips were suddenly pressed into a tight line when he was fine just moments ago…but I was too distracted now to care about Ishida and his problem.

Renji had finally come back to school.

o – o – o – o – o – o

The morning hours passed by in a blur, leaving me sitting there beside the window in my own private bubble like I was somehow secluded from the rest of the world. I mulled over things in circles without really coming up with anything new—it was like the pointless process was only a distraction, an improvised coping mechanism.

The camouflage—the temporary shell—that I wrapped around myself was most appreciated, but it also made me realize that I was way too nervous and tense and jumpy than I should be. Of course I _knew_ I was going through an episode of sorts, but I have never fallen _this_ low before. Everything was piling on top of each other—my never-ending depression that always waited in the wings, my inexplicable preoccupation with Renji and the mystery that his adopted family exuded, the emotional imbalance my forced move to Hokkaido has caused me, my inability to deal with more than just one serious emotion at any given time, and even the crushing nostalgia and yearning I have never expected to feel for the maybe-friends I left behind.

I was falling apart. I could feel myself giving at the seams. Every moment felt like it was going to be my breaking point. I was losing my touch. I was no longer…_me_.

What little humor I had left in my body reminded me that Shinji—the tactless, sadistic Barbie I knew from a month ago, not the mushy blond exchanging messages with me now—was going to have the time of his life when he finds out that I—Ichigo, delinquent, tough-guy act, cool as hell—have gone way too soft now. Softer than marshmallow torched with a flamethrower.

The one little reprieve was that we had no painting classes today. The last thing miserable little me needed was to see the object of my goddamned weakness when I was battling the limits of my slowly slipping sanity.

We went to the cafeteria during lunch as a group—a large, _noisy_ group. Choosing what to buy took longer than it should have because they somehow figured it was their business what the others bought for lunch. Not that I was complaining—their continued banter kept me preoccupied from the real shit. Helped me stall, escape for a while longer. I was just dragging the inevitable, but I didn't care.

I seriously attempted to choose something I could actually eat despite the tectonic activity in my stomach, but I ended up buying only strawberry milk.

Of course they noticed my lack of appetite—and the irony of my choice of beverage—but no one said anything about it. I didn't know if that was because my dark mood showed in my face, or because Ishida was staring them down through his intimidating fuck-off glasses with his sharp don't-mess-with-me blue eyes.

I should probably thank the guy someday.

Because _somebody_ figured that maybe we could use a little sunshine to brighten the mood, they decided that we should have lunch on the roof again. And so we did.

They started ignoring me when they realized that I wasn't in any mood to talk anytime soon, but the action did not feel hostile or even the slightest bit offensive. My new classmates were too easy to like, in fact. I could feel an almost palpable warmth reaching out to me, inviting me to join in whenever I pleased.

I appreciated it of course, but for the meantime, I contented myself with just watching them. I felt a little sick—nothing serious though, just something psychological—and it was probably in my best interests to just keep to myself until the sour feeling had passed.

"You can talk to me, you know? If there's anything bothering you…" Ishida said quietly as we made our way back down.

For a moment, it almost made me smile how he was saying the exact thing Dad said to me on my first day. But no sound of amusement could make it out of my throat even if I wanted to—the statement only implied that I looked so bad on the surface I actually warranted uncharacteristic words from more than just my father.

"I'm fine," I muttered for his benefit, although anyone within twenty meters of me would know that I wasn't—I just felt that there was no need to broadcast it.

"Kurosaki-kun," he started again, but I just shook my head. He bit his lip and minded his own business after that.

We returned to our room when Keigo finally finished his lunch.

It was only when people started filing out once more after putting their lunch packs down on their desks that I realized I have forgotten one crucial thing—we have PE today. I've been distracted to the point of dysfunction. _Not good_.

I almost considered ditching, but I got myself towed by Ishida and Chad—of _all_ people—before I could even form the decision. And as if determined to make sure I attended the class, they only let go of me when we have already changed.

As we walked across the grounds to join the line, the first thing I registered was that Renji was there. He was dropped off by his siblings—which made me wonder briefly if he was in a similar situation as mine. I dismissed the theory when he waved goodbye to them in a casual but friendly manner.

I didn't realize I've been staring at him until his almost-predatory gaze met mine. I quickly looked away, feeling my face go up in flames at being caught red-handed.

_Come on, Ichigo. Get a grip already._

I gritted my teeth as I lined up—if I had to choose now between snow and Renji, I would have chosen snow. At least I had experience dealing with the mood slumps snow falls trigger in me. I could deal with it—I would know what to expect. Right now, I wasn't ready at all to face Renji and my unhealthy gravitation towards him.

Too bad the snow had stopped sometime during the morning when I wasn't looking. If only it had snowed longer, PE would have most likely been cancelled.

Iba-sensei decided to let us have practice drills on the basic skills needed for volleyball, saying he was disappointed with the results of the mini-games between the two sections. He determined that we needed to first _learn_ the sport before he could expect us to be able to play it properly.

I shook my head at the unbelievable announcement, wondering if something had gone wrong up top sometime during his boxing days.

At any rate though, the practice session was better than I expected. It was easier to avoid running into Renji, or even seeing him, than I would have thought because Iba-sensei did not make us choose random numbers—which always guarantees Kusajishi Yachiru's face-off with Ishida, for reasons I would like to know someday.

We were instructed to drill on the four basic skills—receiving, tossing, spiking, and serving. It was interesting to watch complete noobs trying to execute a spike, only to hit someone in the head with the dismal attempt and end up clutching their reddened wrists with no small amount of indignation.

Smug students left and right kept on smirking—it was a brutal sport indeed.

When it was finally my turn, I was flummoxed to see an almost violent change of drilling partner—a gigantic guy called Jidanbou, whom I recognized to be one of those students trying to woo me into joining the volleyball team, nudged the frightened student aside. I could tell he did it as gently as he could, but the kid still hit the ground like he was shoved aside by a battering ram.

"How's your receive, Kurosaki-kun?" he asked me good-naturedly, holding up a volleyball—the white sphere looked like a golf ball in his large hands.

I struggled not to make a face as I answered him. "Not bad, I guess."

Of course it wasn't bad. After all, I managed to hold out against Renj—_yeah_… I can never really avoid him for long, I guessed. He always cropped up in the most inopportune moments. Anytime, all the time.

I shook my head and crouched down. _Distraction_. I needed a distraction. Right. Fucking. Now. "Let's just get this over with, alright?"

Jidanbou bounced the puny-looking ball against the ground a few times, eyeing me intently all the while, then tossed it up into the air and smashed it towards me.

I winced as the ball hit my arms with the force of a hammer driving into an anvil. A beautiful shade of red immediately rushed under my skin to color my arms like flowers in fast-forward bloom.

"One," he said aloud in an infuriatingly helpful voice, as if I didn't know how to fucking count. What a joke. And this was _supposed_ to be an innocent PE class, not a slaughterhouse.

The next few hits were as viciously strong as the first one, leaving me no doubt I was once again going to be taking painkillers like candies for the next two days.

"You really _should_ join us, Kurosaki-kun," Jidanbou almost pleaded as I successfully dug out another tricky spike. The furrow between his eyebrows steadily grew deeper and deeper with every hit I managed to receive, like he was so disappointed that I wouldn't even consider joining them.

I stretched my arms briefly before crouching back down for the last ball. "Sorry. It's just not my thing," I said, waiting for his spike.

He sighed in frustration—_not_ in defeat, I noted—and tossed the ball up one last time.

One moment, I was looking up at the blindingly white sphere hanging in midair. Then without any warning, my vision turned black for a brief moment. At the same time, an indescribable pressure descended upon me with a crushing force. It was like I was suddenly plunged underwater, my lungs immediately screaming for air.

I wasn't sure _how_ the hell it could even happen, but I thought I saw a black butterfly flutter past me. Then the pressure was instantly gone.

The strange phenomenon took all of two seconds, but the momentary slip in my concentration was enough to cost me big time.

The spike I missed hit me straight in the goddamned head. The only consolation was that my head was tilted slightly to the side, letting my nose avoid the impact—I was sure it would have been broken if that ball hit me squarely in the face.

However, it also meant that the side of my head took the brunt of the hit…

I blacked out involuntarily as I felt my body sway and drop to the ground—I barely heard a soft chorus of voices, which I knew were actually alarmed shouts, through the ringing in my head. I regained consciousness before anyone could reach me where I lay on the ground, though—something I was thankful for.

When my vision adjusted after several moments of blinking furiously against the mixed light, the first thing I saw was Inoue's wide doe eyes.

"Oh my God, Kurosaki-kun, are you _alright_?" she asked frantically, wringing her hands together in front of me.

Of course, supreme _idiot_ that I was, I pretended to be just fine even though I felt like my head had cracked cleanly into two and that my brains have most likely fallen out in the process.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I managed to say in a convincingly light and amused voice. Everything was spinning and spinning and whirling and ringing, but no one had to know _that_.

"Tokyo boy!" a gruff voice yelled from somewhere, parting the crowd easily. It was Iba-sensei. "Are you alright there?" I didn't know if he was just dense, or he really couldn't see me through those ridiculous glasses.

I sat up—with the help of a silent Chad—and tried to assure everyone, "I'm fine. I'm alright. I just slipped, that's all."

Iba-sensei pursed his lips.

"We should bring him to the clinic, sensei," Ishida said sternly, suddenly appearing behind the teacher. He looked winded, like he just ran from some faraway place. "Kurosaki-kun was _hit_ with a _volleyball_ on the _head_. By no less than a member of the volleyball team."

Everybody stared at Jidanbou, who looked like he was about to cry or something—_fucker_.

Iba-sensei looked troubled as students started murmuring about concussions and all that shit. When he opened his mouth, looking like he was about to deliver bad news, I stammered into speech.

"No! _Really_, I'm okay," I tried to convince him—and _only_ him. Never mind the others. _He_ was the only one with a say, and I seriously didn't want to go to the clinic. "The ball just grazed me. I lost my balance, though. That's why I fell. Otherwise, I'm perfectly _fine_."

Everyone stared at me as I spouted blatant lies on the spot. I didn't care. Iba-sensei looked torn—he was a teacher, after all. I crossed my fingers behind my back, _hoping_…

The pink-haired class rep of 2-4 bounced into the scene, looking cheerful. Dizzy—and maybe even _dying_—as I was, I didn't fail to notice that she had a large lollipop stuck between her lips.

"Sensei! Sensei!" she sang, skipping around the disgruntled former boxing champion. "It's the sixth time you'll be sending a student to the clinic this week, right?"

His face paled to the color of radish in approximately 0.005 seconds.

_Yes!_

I barely suppressed a smile as I got to my feet—I gave him a reassuring grin instead, knowing that victory was in hand.

"You don't have to worry about me, Iba-sensei," I said in sepulchral tones. "Nothing's wrong with me. I'm healthy as a horse. No need to attract the attention of the _school board_, right?"

He gulped audibly. "Yeah, yeah…"

Ishida glared at me, realizing what I was doing. "Kurosaki-kun!"

I met his gaze with a hard look of my own—I wasn't a child, and I needed no one's concern. He looked betrayed and disappointed, but he backed down after a while, looking deflated.

Iba-sensei finally gathered his wits about him.

"Alright everyone, back to your places! And _keep it down_, will ya?" he huffed, sending students scattering into the fields again. He turned to me with a worried glance—I had fair reason to believe that the concern wasn't exactly directed at me, though. "Kurosaki, you're not to join the drills anymore. Just sit on the grass somewhere and take it easy for today. That's an order. Now move!"

Chad gave me a silent, mysterious pat on the back before jogging back to his place. I mumbled my thanks before he got out of earshot, which he acknowledged with a simple wave of his hand.

_What a curious fellow_, I thought to myself.

I sat down on a grassy slope near the edges of the field just like Iba-sensei said—my head was killing me, and my ears haven't even stopped ringing yet. _Goddamned sport_. If there was the slightest chance I would have considered joining the volleyball team before this blunder, they could forget about it now. I did not take well to team members trying to kill their recruit with a goddamned ball.

While I slumped there lifelessly, trying to pretend that my head wasn't going off like it had been split open with an ax, someone sat down beside me.

"You alright?"

My lips parted in surprise as I stared at the figure beside me. "Wh…?"

He continued to look at the field as he spoke, his long hair whipping behind him lightly as the wind blew in our direction.

"I don't think I've introduced myself yet," he said in a deep, husky voice—the kind that made girls shiver with desire, and guys groan with envy. He tilted his head slightly to look at me. "The name's Abarai Renji."

I continued to stare at him like I've been electrocuted—it wasn't the best way to leave an impression, but I couldn't help it. I wasn't exactly at my best at the moment, and he caught me at the worst possible timing—what, with a possible injury to the head courtesy of a goddamned volleyball. Not to mention that I would have never thought he would approach me on his own.

I was, _yeah_…caught off guard.

He gave me more than enough time to try and get my bearings, but when I still haven't uttered a single word—nor make a sound of any kind—after three minutes, he looked at me again and said, "So…I already know your name. Kurosaki Ichigo, right? You're the transferee from Tokyo."

Now I just felt downright _stupid_. The asshole who beat me with a volleyball the other day just played out a one-man introduction scene in front of me, making _me_ look like the jerk.

He waved a hand vaguely towards the class as he made a few casual remarks about how seemingly pointless the entire thing was, taking care of small talk as I fumed-slash-contemplated about whether to confront him or just forget about the whole fiasco from our first real-time meeting.

Needless to say, I couldn't make up my mind about it.

He turned his fiery-haired head to me fully and settled his piercing gaze on me. "You look like you could win tournaments for the school. Why not join the volleyball team?"

He said it in a smooth and casual but persuasive tone. I felt my eyebrow twitch—I was so _not_ considering the volleyball team just because this brute suggested it. No way.

I glared at him with no attempts at subtlety. "Why? Are you on the team as well?"

He made a smug, almost arrogant face in response to my question, like he thought volleyball was _so_ beneath him. "Nah…I have some other things I'm busy with."

_Arrogant prick._ I had to work to control my voice so that I wouldn't be shouting or growling when I next spoke. "Is that why you were gone the whole week?"

Renji stiffened slightly, like I just accused him of murdering the neighbors. "Why do you ask?"

The reaction confused me, so I just shrugged—it wasn't like I was dying to know what he does when he chooses to ditch school. _His_ life, not mine—he can spend it as he pleased. That being said though, I still felt—as Ishida put it bluntly—_interested_. Just slightly. In the general sense of the word.

I just _knew_ there was something about Renji that was different now…

"Are you hurt?" I asked him as soon as I formed the thought in my head.

He stared at me like I just spoke in ancient Egyptian. "I think you hit your head a little too hard. I'm not the _one_ who decided to receive a spike with my face, remember?"

_Wow, that was so fucking funny_, I would have hissed were he anybody else, along with a solid uppercut—but _because_ it was him, I ignored the jibe…for now.

"What I mean is," I said slowly, watching him closely for his reaction, "are you injured or something? You were kinda limping earlier, before PE even started." I had no idea how I knew this at all, but that was not the point at the moment. "And you weren't swinging your right arm as much as your left."

I was definitely waiting for a reaction, but I haven't expected him to react like he did—he jerked hard like someone tased him, then threw me a weird glance from the corner of his eyes. He looked shifty, and he acted like his nerves were on hair trigger or something—it made me suspicious.

Maybe he _really_ was involved in classified police operations.

But as I turned the thought over in my head, I realized that it wasn't exactly something to be suspicious of. If anything, I should be excited—well, _duh_. The prospect of being a high school student while doubling as an undercover agent or something has got to be fucking _awesome_, right? It's practically like every boy's wet dream come true.

I suppressed a smile just in time—he turned to look at me again with those deep, dark eyes.

"How's your head?" he asked me in a serious voice, oblivious to the excitement rushing through my veins at the moment.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I answered, making sure I wouldn't break into a giddy smile. "I'm fine. Nothing's broken."

His eyes narrowed at me. "Stupid. It's your _head_. You don't have to wait for anything to be broken. Let me see."

I opened my mouth to ask him what exactly he meant when he said _let me see_, but he beat me to it. Renji reached over, weaved his fingers into my hair sinuously, and started probing lightly against my head.

I wasn't able to react and throw him off me like I should have because all my efforts were suddenly focused on not totally losing my cool and reacting in an undignified way, like yelping...or worse, _moaning_.

His goddamned fingers were making me want to fucking moan. _Dammit_.

Damn Renji. Damn volleyball. Damn Karakura. Damn it _all_ to the deepest pits of burning hell.

It wasn't _right_. It wasn't even _me_. But it was true. I couldn't do anything about it—I was only human, with a responsive body. And it didn't help that I was a healthy teenager in the peak of my adolescent years.

The soft pads of his fingertips continued to press lightly but firmly against my scalp, tracing searing hot paths on my skin, making my toes curl both in effort not to make a sound, and mind-numbing ple—_SHIT._

_What the hell…?_

I quickly called the names of all the saints I knew, fictional or otherwise—I was so _losing_ it.

_Somebody help me._

Thankfully, Renji stopped before I could start hyperventilating like some rabid fangirl. His hands fell back down to his sides as he declared with a confused-sounding tone that my head was indeed just fine, and that I didn't even seem to have a bruise. I thanked my lucky stars—along with all the goddamned planets in the solar system—for having mercy on me.

But _then_…

I have only sighed in relief when Renji suddenly pushed me down into the grass, his warm hand clamped into the flesh of my shoulder.

"_Renji_…!" I gasped in surprise as I felt my body hit the ground, pinned firmly against the grass by his own. I writhed against him instinctively, only to feel him press against me harder. _Shit_. I felt it all—every line, every plane, every curve… _Shit shit shit—_

Before my mind could go into hyperdrive though, I saw a white ball with blue strips zoom past us with a sharp spin that made the stripes blend into an incomprehensible blur. It smashed against the chainlink fence with a loud, rattling sound.

"_Watch it_, will you?" Renji bellowed angrily, easily drowning the loud chorus of yells from the field—someone kept on apologizing profusely from the distance.

I remained frozen for a few more moments, then I realized that Renji had just saved me from a stray ball.

Once he was done glaring at everyone, he helped me up at once, asking me if I was alright as he did.

"I'm fine," I mumbled automatically. "Uhh…thanks."

"Are you sure?" he asked as he looked into my eyes. "Your face is red."

_And you just made it redder, idiot!_

Deep breaths. Deep breaths… "I'm fine, alright? It's…it's just the _heat_."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Fine. If you say so… Oh right, sorry for surprising you. But I figured it would have sucked if you got hit by a ball in the face twice in a day, let alone an hour."

"Yeah," I mumbled, embarrassed for reasons he wasn't—and should _never_ be—aware of.

_Dammit, _I needed to stop acting like a goddamned virgin—never mind that I was one. That was so not the point here. I shouldn't be feeling…er, feeling _this_ way. Innocent physical contact shouldn't be setting my nerves on fire. It shouldn't—

_Deep breaths, Ichigo_…

I managed to calm myself down after a while—no small thanks to my _years_ of practice on clamping down on the emotional shit whenever it struck.

The next few minutes were uneventful as we continued to sit there on the grassy slope, watching a few of the students play impromptu matches of three against three when Iba-sensei wasn't looking. I must admit that I was having fun lounging there while watching the others suffer from the violent sport.

As Renji made small comments every now and then about the techniques and stances of a few of the players—which I honestly found interesting, by the way—I started wondering why the guy was sitting beside me instead of playing with the others. After all, we were the only ones slacking off—and _I _was doing it with permission from the teacher.

But just when I was about to ask Renji, the sky suddenly darkened. Mine was one of the many eyes that looked up immediately—it was the kind of dark that went with mean weather. A low murmur can be heard all throughout the field, probably wondering as I was whether this unpleasant development was going to continue. When nothing more happened after a minute, heads finally went down reluctantly.

Just when I thought I was finally starting to shake off the dark mood I had this morning, _this_ had to happen.

I tried once more to force the weather out of my mind, but Renji's casual question made the effort futile.

"You think it will snow?" he murmured, still looking up at the sky.

Because I owed the guy for saving me, I tried to answer as decently as possible without having to think much about it at the same time—it _wasn't_ easy. In the end, I only managed to say, "I guess so…" Not exactly a decent answer.

He caught the strange note in my tone. "You don't like snow, do you?"

I stopped breathing, wondering how far he would go. "You can say that…"

He looked puzzled. "Why did you transfer here, then?"

I flinched at the painfully candid question. He quickly corrected himself.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said honestly, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture—not that there was a need for it or anything. "What I meant was—"

I waved his words away and shrugged. "I get it." But I still wished we didn't have to talk about this.

He nodded slowly, but he didn't back down. "But really. The snow aside, why did you transfer here?"

I looked down at the ground and realized belatedly that I have been picking at the grass all this time. "Yeah, that…it's _complicated_."

"I'll listen," he told me simply.

I sighed heavily as I met his expectant gaze.

I haven't even told my dad yet—and I wasn't entirely sure I would ever do—but now I was actually thinking of a way to begin the story with. I was really going to tell this guy the reason why I suddenly left my whole life behind and ran to this small town far far away from everything I've ever known, loved, _cherished_.

Renji lifted his hand slowly, as if to put it on my shoulder.

"I was depressed," I breathed, deciding there was no easier way to do this than to just speak the truth, raw and unedited.

I looked at him briefly as I let my words sink in for a while—his hand was frozen in midair, his guarded eyes on my face.

I looked back at the field, not seeing anything. "Some things happened in the past and I sort of," I released the breath I've been holding unconsciously. "…relived it."

_Maybe telling him these things in the middle of PE class wasn't a good idea…_

"Don't get me wrong, though. It's not what it sounds like," I said quickly, realizing how my first sentence must have sounded to him—his body language was _very_ expressive. "It's nothing big. I was just going through a hard time. You know…sleepless nights, decreased appetite, that kind of thing. It's manageable, but when things piled up and added together…"

I looked up at the sky—nothing was visible. I wasn't even sure what I was looking at. Was it really the sky? Was it just a murky carpet of clouds? Where was the _light_?

"I'm a good kind of depressed person, you know?" I said lightly, cracking a small humorless smile. "I don't drink myself to oblivion, although I'm not going to deny that I've resorted to a bottle or two during the hardest times… I've never done drugs—nor do I intend to, ever. It's funny, really…"

His hand squeezed my shoulder, but I barely noticed it.

"I was fine—it's _true_—but I also knew that I couldn't take any more," I breathed, feeling so vulnerable at the moment. I couldn't believe I was saying all this, but I also couldn't bring myself to check Renji's expression if only to make myself stop…

I was afraid to see whatever it was I was going to see on his face.

_Deep breath_. "A psychologist advised me to try and seek a new environment, to see if it would help with the depression. I sat on the idea for _months_. I thought I would never have to resort to that, but I ended up having to move after all."_ I was weak. I lost to my own demons_. "One week was all I managed when… Then I ran away."

I wasn't sure if anything I said made sense to Renji, but I decided that it was all I was going to say. I couldn't handle any more, unless I wanted to show everyone my tears—which I _didn't_, and would _never_ do. I would rather die before I cried in front of strangers.

When Renji spoke, I was surprised to hear him sounding so tentative. "I know you just got here last week, so you couldn't have spent long here yet but…is it helping?"

"Eight days," I said emotionlessly. "I really don't know yet…"

Renji shifted uneasily, drawing my gaze—he looked extremely uncomfortable, but also worried. There was a crease above his eyes, and his mouth was set into a frown I was sure he wasn't aware of. "You, er…wanna _talk_ about it?"

Despite my mood, my lips curved into a genuine smile. "Not really. But thanks."

He was still fidgeting, looking at anywhere but me. "If you ever need to talk about it though…"

I nodded wordlessly, allowing my mind to shut down before the more painful thoughts overwhelmed my control and ruined this fragile moment between Renji and me.

o – o – o – o – o – o

Ishida walked over to me as soon as PE ended. By the time he stopped right in front of me, Renji was no longer beside me—he was already walking away, his back on me.

I stared after him in fascination as he continued to move steadily without the slightest bit of hesitation in his steps, feeling like this was the first time I was seeing something that looked so feral and yet so beautiful. And maybe it _was_.

I've never seen anything like him before…

A _savage_ kind of beauty indeed.

As I watched him disappear from sight, I thought that he might actually be the most beautiful among their group. More beautiful than the slender Shihouin, more beautiful than the graceful Kuchiki. It was an idea out of the blue, but I thought it was true nevertheless. The sharp angles, the jagged edges, the abundance of lines and the unconventional appeal of it all called out to me strongly, drawing me to him like moth to a flame.

The rest of the day quickly spent itself as a part of my mind replayed through our conversation contentedly while I stared outside the window all throughout History. I have found a place in my mind where my recollection of the darkest times of my life didn't taste so bitter. There I found warmth…a quiet acceptance, an undemanding audience.

I found someone willing to just _listen_.

I took the shortest possible route home. And when I got to my bedroom, I put my music player on the noisiest playlist I had and turned it on as high as it can go, letting the deafening sound bounce all around my room as I lay on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, remembering the image of Renji walking away, his solid figure outlined by the heavy colors of the setting sun that made it look like his entire body was on fire, driving away the cold memories of that one snowy day from my repressed past a long _long_ time ago.

o – o – o – o – o – o

**The quote "No fate but what we make" is from one of those Terminator movies. Yeah. :))**

**Some of you guys might have taken notice of the format of Ichigo's and Shinji's text messages. So for the record, yes, I deliberately wrote them that way. I didn't want to write it in the stereotypical SMS format—you know, words and phrases shortened into almost unreadable shit. :)) This is a somewhat formal work anyway, so I figured I could get away with it. Besides, we all have different ways of shortening words, and what might be perfectly understandable to one might not be to another. So, you get the point. :))**

**Again, about the emo stuff… I personally think that he's way too emo here, but I couldn't tone it down. What I mean by that is, he really feels this way right now. Haha! Does that make sense? He said it, didn't he? He's emotionally imbalanced right now. Don't worry, though. This will all be over in Chapter Three. (The next chapter is action-packed to the brim. Just read Twilight's Chapter Three. It's where Bella nearly gets run over by Tyler's van. *evil grin* What do you think do I have in mind for Ichigo? Remember, high school students in Japan don't have cars. *wink*)**

**And oh yeah, please don't go commenting yet about how Renji seems to be way too soft or whatever…I can't make him act all bastard-like and stuff when Ichigo's feeling down. :)) He'll be his usual brash self soon enough.**

**Thanks for reading! I look forward to a long ride with you guys. :))**

**Lovingly Yours,**

**BloodyPencils**


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